


Men-i-Naugrim

by eichenschild



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-30 01:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 67,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eichenschild/pseuds/eichenschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaving home for the first time is exciting. Leaving home to reclaim a treasure from a Dragon is an adventure. The biggest adventure in the lives of two young Dwarfs, following their uncle on a journey they had never imagined. - non-OC, non-slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first Chapter of 'Men-i-Naugrim', a multi-chaptered story that will basically re-tell the events of 'The Hobbit' with quite a lot of major changes to the plot. You won't find slash or shipping, but close family bonds and hopefully loads of action and adventure.
> 
> Enjoy the first Chapter! :)

“Let’s begin with the youngest.”

Broad laughter sounded through the dark cracks and shafts of Goblin-Town, clanging from the cave walls until the echo sounded like a million foul creatures laughing at them from every direction. Pebbles began bouncing at their feet and the numerous wooden plank bridges were shaken to the core, swinging lazily above chasms, deep as the mountains were high. Even the fire of the torches flickered. 

So far, Kíli had never known real fear. A fear of pain or death, unfamiliar sensations for the young dwarf, whose ego often made him seemingly invincible and even more so, reckless beyond saving. Born and raised in the safety of the Blue Mountains, Thorin’s nephew had never seen battle nor experienced death first hand and he believed that heroism and courage saved lives better than any shield or weapon. 

Now, looking at the enormous Goblin King, unarmed and stripped from most of his armour, his knees grew weak and started to shake uncontrollably. The creature seemed to stare deep into his soul, a sick sense of sadism drawing a huge smirk on it’s features, exposing a row of yellow, pointy teeth. And he was afraid. For the first time he was genuinely afraid.

He heard the rattling of the war machine in his back, the Bone Breaker, made from wood and metal that crept over the planks like a slow and massive beast. Bodies pressed against his and he wasn’t sure weather they belonged to his companions or the enemy that had them circled and captured. Panic-fuelled he looked around but couldn’t spot Thorin anywhere. 

Instead, a familiar sight of blond, braided hair suddenly appeared before him and he felt his brother’s back defensively against his chest, one hand reaching out for him. He quickly grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers, not intending to ever let go.

“I swear by all the treasure in the world, if you touch him, I will gut you like the ugly beast that you are!” Fíli thundered at the Great Goblin, not sure where the sudden courage had come from. 

For a moment, the whole town fell quiet and Kíli was just about to regain hope and courage, when the Great Goblin began to roar and howl with laughter until tears formed in his red eyes, his minions soon joining in. 

“And how would you do that?” the Goblin King roared. “You have no weapons!”

Obviously a minor detail that Fíli had missed, as he frantically started looking around for something to defend himself with. To no avail, of course.

“But I have to thank you, Master Dwarf!”

The Great Goblin stood up from his throne and took a few steps towards the young Dwarves, causing a disturbance amongst Dwarves and Goblins alike. He raised his enormous hands but instead of assaulting the youngster, he dropped a curtsy before the puzzled Fíli. 

“For you have just given away our first guest on the Bone Breaker”, the Goblin smirked. “Get him!”

“NO!” 

The brothers were immediately ripped from each other. Fíli desperately tried to grab his brother’s clothes, got a good handful of Kíli’s coat but could not hold his own against the combined strength of about a dozen Goblins that had started dragging the younger one away. The fabric ripped and Fíli was left with Kíli’s hood in his hands. He tried to fight his way past the Goblins, but they kept on pushing him back, slicing and ripping his clothes with their claws and daggers.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM YOU MONSTER, OR I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU!”

“Swear all you want, Dwarf. I could not care less.”

Just as Kíli was dragged down the plank bridge towards the huge war machine waiting on the next peak, Thorin began to make his way to the front of bunch. Without attracting attention or making a sound, he grabbed Fíli’s shoulder and yanked him back, in between the safety of Bofur, Glóin and Balin, who shielded them from the eyes of the Great Goblin. 

“What in Durins name do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at his nephew. 

“What am I doing?! What are you doing?! They’re dragging him away and you’re just standing there!”

“What are we supposed to do without weapons?”

“I’ll take him on without weapons!”

“No you won’t! It is enough that one of you is in grave danger, don’t be foolish!” 

“What is this!” the Great Goblin bellowed, curiously glimpsing down on the pile of Dwarves that was still circled by 30 or 40 nasty looking Goblins. “Gone into a huddle I suppose. You will not be able to save your friend. Unless of course, you tell me what I want to know.”

Thorin felt uneasy under the intense, furious glare of his own nephew. He shoved the youngster out of his way, puffed himself up until he resembled the noble Dwarf that he was and, even without heavy armour and weapons, looked intimidating and determined enough. Like that he pranced through the group and only stopped because a few of the minions pointed their weapons at him. 

“Let him go”, he demanded in a calm but daring tone.

“Oh”, the Great Goblin stared at him for a short while. “Now look at that! So well hidden by your peers, I had nearly not seen you! Folks! There is nobility amongst us!” 

Again the Great Goblin bowed down in a mockingly way, causing his underlings to snicker and giggle. Thorin gritted his teeth. 

In the meantime, Kíli had been dragged all the way over the bridge to a platform that lay below the throne of the Goblin King. He had done his fair share of kicking, scratching and biting, scaring off two or three Goblins, even kicking one of them into the black abyss below the bridge, but still hopelessly overpowered, he could not free himself.  
The war machine came in sight, towering over him like predator. He spotted metal hooks, ropes, pins and a wooden bolt that hung from the construction above the middle of the Bone Breaker. Dried blood stuck to it, reeking so badly of copper that Kíli gagged. 

But instead of clamping him into the enormous mechanism straight away, the Goblins put him on his feet firmly holding tight onto his arms so he couldn’t run. His gaze scurried across the throng on the upper platform, desperately searching for a sign of his brother but Goblins were blocking his sight. Only the large Goblin King stood out amongst them. 

And even on the peek a few feet away, Kíli heard him holler.

“Thorin Oakenshield!”

The Goblins began to cheer, some even applauding the Dwarf that stood amongst them, not a single sign of fear on his features. 

“An honour!” the Great Goblin giggled. “Truly an honour, to, at last, meet the King under the Mountain, minus the Mountain!”

Thorin did not reply.

“I know someone who would really like to see your head. Only your head, in fact.” 

“I know plenty who do”, Thorin replied dryly. “Let him go.”

“No. Why? Will you give me the information I require from you?”

In the back, Fíli slowly pushed forward until Balin, who chastised him with a glare, held him back. 

“Don’t ye move a muscle”, he whispered. “Yer’ll be risking yer uncles head if ye take another step.”

“But Kíli. He’s down there somewhere!”

“I know laddie. I know. Be patient will ye? Thorin knows what he’s doing.”

“Doesn’t look like it”, Fíli huffed but remained on his spot, occasionally tiptoeing to glance over the ugly Goblin heads, down to the Bone Breaker. 

“So”, the Great Goblin had taken a seat on his throne again and gestured Thorin to step towards him, away from the crowd. He did, head held high. 

“What about it? Can we have a little talk? From King under the Mountain to King under the Mountain, in a manner of speaking. Even though, unlike you, I have a mountain.”

“Unlike me, you are no king though”, Thorin replied, earning himself another roaring laughter from the Great Goblin. Thorin knew he was being laughed at and the pride of Durin that flowed through his veins made him clench his fists until his knuckles stood out white, ready to go straight for the Goblins throat, if his nephew’s life did not depend on it. 

“What do you want to know?” he demanded instead, unmoved. 

“Oh well, let’s see”, the Great Goblin got comfortable on his seat. “I wonder what a company of Dwarves would want in my kingdom. Are you here to spy for the Elves? Did Elrond send you? I know you are coming from Rivendell, for you stink of Elvish folk. And even if not, where are you going? On a quest I suppose? What quest, what destination, just tell me what reason Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór might have to enter my kingdom without my permission!”

His voice had gradually become louder and louder until it thundered through the chasms and across the bridges. 

Kíli held his breath. The jingling of the Goblins’ weapons and the low creaking of the wooden beast in his back made it hard for him to understand Thorin’s reply. Time passed, the Goblins surrounding him began to scuttle about a little and Kíli became more and more nervous with every passing minute. Was his uncle readily answering every single question? Was he trying to negotiate a way out? Or did they kill him in the end? Panic struck again and Kíli felt so uneasy, that he carefully tried to creep towards the edge of the platform, only to be held back by swords and pikes pointed at him. If only he could spot Fíli up there!

The elder of the two brothers up by the throne held his breath in a similar fashion. He felt his hands and legs tremble as he stared at his uncle’s back, waiting and waiting for Thorin’s reply. Even Balin next to him began to grow nervous. 

“Come on laddie”, the old Dwarf mumbled. “Get us out of here.”

After what felt like an eternity, Thorin straightened his shoulders, chin high again. The town was still, not a single sound was heard. 

“I will not answer any of your questions!”

The following uproar was deafening. 

Goblins were howling and hissing and laughing, amongst them the Great Goblin, whose massive head wobbled like jelly. But not only the Goblins were upset.  
Fíli had started to scream at his uncle, cursed him in foulest Khuzdul and not even Balin could hold him back anymore, as he began to fight against the barrier of Goblin bodies, blocking his way to Thorin. Only with the help of Glóin and Dwalin, did they restrain Thorin’s nephew, unsure whether his anger was directed at the Great Goblin or in fact Thorin, who still stood unfazed. 

Kíli’s knees had given in. He sank down to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. 

“It is decided then!” the Great Goblin roared. “Strap him to the Bone Crusher! And line his comrades up right here by the edge so they will witness the suffering of their fellow!” 

Kíli was yanked to his feet again and pulled towards the war machine, up a baulk and then violently pressed down on a wooden bench. His hands and feed were tied with thick leather straps and no matter how much he tried to fight them; he could not free himself from his shackles. 

“Your company must mean very little to you, Thorin Oakenshield!”, the Goblin King bellowed, as the Dwarves were seized and pulled towards the edge of the peak. Five had to keep Fíli at bay who struggled and fought as if his own life was on the line down there. They were forced on their knees, gazes fixed on the Bone Breaker and poor Kíli who still tried to fight his restraints. Thorin was dumped next to his older nephew who, by now, had a blade held right at his neck to prevent any more struggle.

“Well then”, the Goblin King snickered. “Shall we begin?”


	2. Chapter 2

Kíli’s struggles subsided as soon as he spotted his brother up on the platform. Fíli, forced on his knees and with a massive blade in his neck, stared down at his younger sibling, nearly went insane in his frustration. 

“So, let’s see. Dwarves are quite a small folk, are they not?”

Various Goblins answered their master, giggling and snickering in the process. “Small, yes, very small indeed.”

“Have you ever seen a big Dwarf? Besides this fatty here?” the Great Goblin demanded, pointing at Bombur who kneeled at the far end of the company.

“No, never. No fatties, no big ones.”

“Not even that one is really big!” now the Great Goblin pointed at Dwalin, who snarled at him in return, scaring off a group of smaller Goblins. 

“I believe it is time to make a really big dwarf ourselves!”

Howling and laughter emerged from the Goblins surrounding the scenery. Many had settled on the bridges and crooked wooden huts that ascended up the mountain. They applauded their King, cheering and whistling. 

“PULL HIS LIMBS UNTIL HIS FLESH IS TORN AND HIS BODY RIPPED APART!” the roar echoed through every cavern, every crack of the Misty Mountains and resounded down on the poor dwarves. 

“NO! KÍLI!”

Enraged and afraid, Fíli nearly flung himself off the peak, had it not been for his capturers who were holding him firmly in place. He didn’t even notice the blade cutting into his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

Below, Kíli felt his legs and arms being spread, as the Goblins attached long ropes to the leather shackles and clamped them into a build-up of wooden cogwheels. One prominently big Goblin firmly gripped a gigantic lever. 

“Thorin!” Bofur whispered at their leader, who kneeled only a few inches away from him. “Now would be a good time to answer them questions!”

“I said I won’t answer them”, Thorin replied between gritted teeth. 

“But I think they’re being serious down there. You wouldn’t let them rip the lad in half now, would you?”

Durin’s heir remained quiet. 

“Begin!” the Great Goblin barked, his eyes fixed on Thorin. 

The big Goblin began to push, groaning and hackling like some wild beast. 

At first nothing happened. 

Kíli lay, waiting for any sort of sensation while he heard the blood rush in his ears and felt his heart racing in his chest. Thorin would not really let him die like this. Never, not in this world, nor any other. They were family after all. Weren’t they?  
His gaze met that of his brother, desperately searching for something reassuring but all he read in Fíli’s features was despair and anger. 

_‘Help me.’_

No sound came from his lips and no sound was needed for a single glance was enough for the brothers to understand each other.

_‘Please, brother, help me.’_

_‘I will. Hold on. Just a little longer.’_

“Coward.”

Thorin’s shoulders jerked as he heard the unforgiving voice of his nephew.

“What did you call me?”

Fíli’s jaws were clenched but he repeated what he said agonizingly slowly.

“Coward.”

“Come on now laddie”, Balin intervened. “This is a pretty tough situation after all.”

“Pretty tough?”

Below, the ropes tightened more and more and Kíli felt a sharp tug at his limbs. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead.

“Pretty tough?! He will die if you don’t do anything!” Fíli still hadn’t raised his voice loud enough for anyone but those closest to him to hear but every word felt like a lash of the whip to Thorin nonetheless. 

“They may not know of our quest”, Thorin insisted once again, sternly looking down at Kíli, possibly unable or unwilling to face Fíli right now. 

The ropes tensed further and the pressure on Kíli’s limbs became nearly unbearable. The young dwarf gritted his teeth, his hands formed into fists. 

“You are risking the life of your kin for this?! For jewels and treasure?! Sparkling rubbish and no more than that?!”

Never before had Fíli spoken to his uncle like this.  
Not to Thorin, not ever. For all those years, Thorin had been Fílis hero. His idol, the one Dwarf he wanted to come up to, to impress more than anything else. He had spent hours and hours together with his brother, dreaming of the great deeds they would do one day for Thorin to recognize them. Slay the dragon, reclaim the treasure, take back Erebor and become the Lords of the stony halls below the Mountain. Fíli knew that, on the day of Thorin’s death, should he not have children of his own by then, he would become the King of Durin’s folk. And as much as he anticipated this moment, the more he dreaded it for it would mean saying goodbye to his uncle whom he adored so much. 

It did therefore not come as a surprise, that the look of anger and hate on Fílis face irritated Thorin so much, that he found himself unable to look at his nephew. 

Down on the platform Kíli felt a sharp, searing pain and heard a loud popping sound, as his elbow snapped from its joint. He cried out in pain and that cry echoed from every wall. 

Fíli flinched as if his own arm had been torn. 

“Is that worth it?! Answer me!”

The pained expression on Thorin’s face was well hid behind a curtain of black hair. 

“Thorin!” 

No reply.

“In Durin’s name, he is your family! THE ONLY FAMILY YOU HAVE LEFT!”

All of a sudden, the ropes loosened up.  
The Goblins pulled them from the cogwheels and threw them to the ground, untying the young dwarf. 

Fíli blinked, puzzled as to what was happening down below.

“What is going on?” Bofur asked, but nobody could answer him. 

They yanked Kíli back onto his feet. The young dwarf could barely stand. His legs were sore and couldn’t properly hold him, his left arm hung limp and useless down his side. Confused, he looked around and then once again met his brother’s gaze, realizing that Fíli was just as confused as he was. 

_‘What have you done?’_

_‘Nothing.’_

One of the Goblins nodded up towards their direction and a bunch of them began to roll the Bone Breaker down the platform and off over the bridges. 

“No”, Thorin’s eyes widened his shock and he yanked his head around, to find the Great Goblin grinning maliciously behind him.

“The only family you have left. Is that so?”

Only then did Fíli realize what he had done. That he had made it worse. Again. And suddenly he felt ineffably numb.

“Well, we better treat our royal guest with a little more respect then, shan’t we? A pitiful death on a machine like that seems very much inappropriate for a member of Durin’s house.”

The Goblin King reached out for a massive hammer leaning against his throne. It was decorated with golden carvings, grimaces of Goblins and Wargs, probably stolen from an Orc warrior or Troll, for the Great Goblin was great enough to wield a weapon as big as this one. Its head nearly matched Kíli in size. 

“I guess I better attend to the young prince myself then.”

“Don’t lay a hand on him”, Thorin growled but earned nothing more than a dark chuckle from the Great Goblin. 

The beast began to move down the bridge, closer and closer to Kíli, who was still weak in the knees and struggling to stand. His vision had gone blurry from the pain, blood still rushing in his ears and as soon as the goblins let go of him, he struggled for a moment to stand firmly on both legs.

“So”, the Goblin King bellowed. “A prince of Durin! Do not worry boy, your death will be slow and painful!” 

Before the young Dwarf even realized what was happening, the massive hammer crashed into the ground only a few inches away from his feet, leaving a deep crater in the solid rock. He was nearly blown off his feet and needed a moment to regain his composure to dodge the next attack. 

“NO! Thorin! Help him for goodness sake!” Fíli cried, forgetting about the blade in his neck that cut deep into his flesh. He didn’t even feel the pain anymore. Panicking, he dug his fingers into the dark stone below him, unable to watch but also unable to look away. 

The Great Goblin swung the hammer once more and this time he hit the youngster full on, blowing him against solid rock. Kíli felt a few ribs break, he cried out and desperately looked for shelter, for he was still unarmed and heavily injured. 

“THORIN!” 

It happened quickly. Before the Goblins even knew what was going on, Thorin had grabbed a massive stone and smashed the skull of the Goblin behind him, then snapping the neck of the one holding the blade to Fíli’s neck with the same stroke. The rest of the Dwarves played on the Goblins confusion and knocked their capturers out one by one. As quickly as he could, Thorin hurried to the heap of weapons that the Goblins had taken from them. 

The Great Goblin sensed nothing of the upheaval, too focused on the young Dwarf at his feet. He lifted the hammer high above his head, ready to strike down and kill Kíli, when he suddenly felt a sharp, burning sensation between his shoulder blades. He halted, the red eyes widened in surprise. The young Dwarf at his feet, already certain of his death, blinked, lowered his right arm, that he had held in front of him like a shield and merely stared at the Goblin King. A dark throwing knife stuck deep in his back and he couldn’t reach it to pull it out.

“FÍLI!” the youngest cried, seeing his brother standing by the edge of the peak, two more knives ready in his hands. 

Another knife pierced the Goblin and a third hit him right in the face, enraging the beast. Then he saw Thorin, back in full armour by the bridge, in his hands the mighty blade of Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. 

The Great Goblin screamed.

“So this is your answer, Thorin Oakenshield! You will die for your family?!”

“Now and any other day! Again and again if I must!” 

But before any of the opponents could even touch one another, a brilliant beam of white light illuminated the entire town, causing Dwarves and Goblins alike to drop like flies and Gandalf’s voice echoed from the stone walls. 

“Grab the boy and run!”

Kíli coughed violently. The Great Goblin, blown off his feet had sent a thick cloud of dust his way and the young Dwarf found it hard to breathe. He tried to get up, supporting himself with his left arm that immediately buckled and caused the youngster to hiss in pain. Through the thick dust in the air, he only saw shadows, one of them moving towards him quickly while the clashing of blades resounded from the stonewalls around them.

It was Fíli’s hand that pulled Kíli back on his shaking feet. His brother’s arm around his waist, his brother’s shoulder that he wrapped his useless arm around. 

“Hold on. We will get you out of here. We’re safe now. Can you run?”

“I guess so.”

“Kíli!” Thorin’s voice sounded from the quarrel around them.

“He’s with me! Run!” Fíli cried, already beginning to pull his brother along, when something suddenly grabbed Kíli’s ankle, causing him to stumble and nearly fall. Grinning manic, the Great Goblin dug his claws deep into the young dwarf’s leg. 

“You’re not going anywhere!”


	3. Chapter 3

Fíli did not hesitate for long, bringing the blade of his sword down into the large hand of the Goblin King who, though still on the ground, held onto Kíli’s leg like a bench vice, effectively cutting off three of the beefy fingers. 

The Goblin King roared, trying to grab the two youngsters once more and again, Kíli nearly fell hadn’t it been for his brother who kept him in a firm grip and pulled him along.

“Don’t look back! Don’t look back, just run!”

“My legs are giving in!”

“Don’t let them!”

They rushed through the thick layers of dust, not even once looking back on the enemy. 

“Across the planks straight to the wall! The exit lies behind a tunnel!” Gandalf yelled across the peaks.

Suddenly the howling behind the youngsters became deafening and the ground began to tremble under the heavy weight of the Goblin King. Fíli glanced over his shoulder only to find the Great Goblin merely a few feet behind them, stretching out his bleeding hand at them. Before them lay nothing but vast stone and dust, the bridge still in the distance and they could not run any quicker with Kíli being so gravely wounded. 

Ready for a last stand off, Fíli already grabbed one of his swords when suddenly Thorin appeared from the dust, Orcrist shimmering in the dim light. 

“Run! Go on, it’s not far!”

The Goblin’s hammer crashed down and met Thorin’s blade with a roaring thunder. 

But Fíli ran no further, fear freezing him on the spot until his brother tugged at his clothes.

“What’s the matter? We need to go!”

“I- I can’t.”

His eyes were fixed on Thorin, who countered one blow after the other, cutting and slicing the thick Goblin skin and driving the Great Goblin closer and closer to the edge of the peak. 

“Fíli!”

Suddenly it dawned on him. That he had nearly lost his brother. The one precious being he had, the one he loved more than anything and he had nearly lost him due to his own fault. He had betrayed him. Twice. And yet, even though he hated himself in this moment, it was still Thorin on whom he vented his wrath. Thorin who had idly stood by, not able to swallow his pride nor give up on the thoughts of gold and treasure to safe his own kin.   
Looking at his uncle now, fighting for his life, an unknown fear crept into Fíli’s heart, making him numb. It was the fear of being so angry at his uncle, that he could never admire him ever again. The fear of not wanting to be like him anymore.

“I can’t, I’m… terrified.”

Kíli sensed that something was wrong with his brother though he could not place his finger on what it was, for he did not know of Thorin’s words and his initial hesitation. Concern showed on his young face as he tried to catch his brothers gaze but Fílis eyes were fixed on Thorin who, by now, had driven the Goblin King so far towards the edge of the platform, that one single more swing of Orcrist sufficed to send the beast flying down into the black abyss. 

It wasn’t until Thorin snapped at them, that Fíli found his way back into reality.

“What are you doing?! I told you to run!” Thorin yelled furiously.

“I’m not listening to you anymore”, Fíli hissed in return, not only surprising Kíli but also leaving Thorin speechless. 

Without so much as looking at Thorin one last time, he grabbed his brother again, firm enough to support him but gentle enough to not hurt him any more and began dragging him away.

“Fíli-“

“Not now. We have to get you out of here.”

The other Dwarves had, by now, slashed a good number of Goblins, clearing the path ahead. Only few tried to get into the brothers ways and Fíli cut them up mercilessly, dealing one blow after the other while still holding onto his brother as if his own life depended on it.

Close to the tunnel by the end of the planks, Thorin finally caught up with them, his face grim and stonelike. He did not say a single word and neither did Fíli, causing the youngest amongst them to feel even more uneasy and hurt than he already did. 

It was then, that the ground began to shake one last time and the Great Goblin burst through the planks right in front of them, roaring with laughter, holding his great war hammer with the bleeding stumps that once were his fingers.

“None of Durin’s kin will leave these mountains alive! Not one of you!” he thundered, raising the hammer above his head.

Immediately both Thorin and Fíli took a step forward, shielding the injured Kíli. Thorin stood, Orcrist firmly in his grip while Fíli had both his swords drawn, the Dwarvish runes on the blades glistening red already. 

“Try it”, Fíli growled.

It was neither Thorin nor Fíli though, who killed the Great Goblin.   
It was Gandalf, coming from nowhere, slashing the throat of the beast and sending him down into the black deep of the mountain. 

“We have no more time! We need to get out into the sunlight!” the wizard yelled and on their way they were, running as if Durin’s Bane itself was after them with flaming whips. Through the narrow tunnels, across shaky bridges, running at the bank of a great underground river that eventually erupted into a waterfall, leading down the mountainside. 

When they reached the rocky slopes of the Misty Mountains, daylight crept over the hill already, bathing the treetops and meadows in a deep, warm orange glow. The air was still fresh and chill from the night and each and every one of them felt pure joy and relief tingling in their stomachs, breathing in the clean, beautiful sunrise. 

“HAHAAA! Living to see another day!” Bofur exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and while all of them dropped their weapons where they stood, Kíli’s legs finally buckled and he fell from his brothers grip, limp like a ragdoll.

“KÍLI!” 

As soon as Kíli hit the ground, his brother kneeled by his side, his blood stained hands pressed firmly against the cheeks of the youngest. 

“No! No, no, no, come on now, don’t do this to me!”

“Out of the way”, Gandalf shooed Dori away and knelt down at the other side of the young dwarf. “He needs a healer, as soon as possible.”

“Will he die?” fear deformed Fíli’s voice to nothing but a croaky whimper and the despair in his eyes nearly broke Gandalf’s heart in two. 

Suddenly the world had become very, very quiet. The Dwarves stood around the two brothers and nobody dared to even breathe. Not even Thorin, standing a little behind Balin and torn mercilessly, between wanting to rush to his nephew’s aid and not backing down on the accusations that Fíli had thrown at him just a few moments ago. It was again the pride of Durin that held the King on the spot, clenching his jaws in frustration.

For a long while, Gandalf just looked at the young Dwarf, for the first time not able to comprehend the turmoil and grief within another living being, for he had never lost a brother and could not know what it felt like, to have fear ripping through the body with a burning blade, knowing the wounds would never heal. 

He reached out, gently placing a large hand on Fíli’s shoulder, a warm, small smile playing on his lips. 

“I do not believe that he will die, my boy. We must however find shelter soon enough and attend to his wounds.”

The relief that immediately flashed across Fíli’s face was brighter than the sunrise. 

He would live. The rest of the world did not matter anymore in this moment. His brother would live. They would stay together. He hadn’t lost him. Smiling brightly, he leaned his forehead against his brother’s, closed his eyes and quietly whispered: “We’re alright now.”

Fíli never recalled Bilbo’s sudden arrival at the scenery, he didn’t hear any sorrow about the lost ponies, nor did he care for any food or drink they offered him, while everyone packed. He sat by his brother’s side, gently stroking the dark hair, afraid to burst with happiness. 

“Mister Gandalf, sir”, Bofur began, a pipe already between the lips. “Where are we going from here then? The lad needs a bed, not the cold ground to sleep on.”

“He does indeed”, Gandalf agreed. “I can not remember any houses nearby though.”

This time Fíli listened up again, once more showing signs of worry on his still dirty face. 

“But where do we take him then?”

“Well, if we hurry now, we can reach Rivendell again by nightfall.”

“Tsk, Rivendell”, Thorin’s deep voice cut through the air like a cold knife. 

Of course everyone knew of Thorin’s deep hatred of the Elves. Balin and Dwalin exchanged short glances, knowing exactly where this anger came from and also knowing that Thorin could not really be blamed for it. Over the past years, the King had infected most of his kin with this blind hatred and even his nephews, who had never spoken to Elves before they visited Rivendell for the first time, met the beautiful but cold creatures with a natural mistrust. 

Never trust an Elf.

It thus came as a surprise to everyone, that Fíli, in whom Thorin’s suspicion of Elves had rooted most deeply, spoke up. 

“We’ll go back to Rivendell then.”

“You want to leave your brother in the hands of Elves?” Thorin demanded, not quite believing what he just heard. 

“Easy lads”, Dwalin muttered but it was already too late.

Fíli rose from his position, drawing himself up and facing his uncle like he had never done before. The Dwarves exchanged nervous glances, not sure what to do and even Gandalf and Bilbo remained quiet.

“Exactly, _my_ brother! _My_ brother, who lies there because of _my_ fault and _I_ will make it right! Don’t come along if you don’t want to but I will turn back and I will take Kíli with me! I will go alone if I must!”

For a while, only the quiet splashing and gurgling of the waterfall in their backs was audible and nobody knew what was going to happen. Thorin stared at his nephew, shocked, angry and confused and Fíli stared back, unblinking and unfazed. 

And to everyone’s surprise, it was Thorin who broke the stare first and began picking up his weapons and belongings. 

“Rivendell it is then.”

They divided their belongings up and helped Dwalin, who was the biggest and strongest of the company, pick up the still unconscious Kíli on his back to carry. With the ponies gone, the march took a while but they barely rested. Even the little Hobbit did not complain about the long journey, for he was most amazed by the bond that Kíli and Fíli shared. Never, not even for one second, did Fíli leave his brother’s side. He walked with Dwalin, always keeping up with the steps of the larger Dwarf, occasionally reaching out to caress his brothers hand that was dangling from Dwalin’s shoulder, as if he needed to reassure himself, that his brother was still there and had not slipped into a world to which he could not follow. 

Thorin marched at the tip of the company, Balin and Gandalf close by but nobody dared to speak a word to him. 

He was brooding, his face stern and not even Balin, his old beloved friend and advisor could guess what was going on in Thorin’s bullhead. The sole one Dwarf confusing him even more however, was Fíli. Fíli the young boy whom he remembered running around the aisles of Thorin’s Halls, chasing after his squealing brother to plunge a living toad down his collar. Fíli who had sneaked up on the sleeping Dwalin more than once, equipped with a carbon pencil to draw more tattoos on his face. Fíli who could never hear too many stories about his heroic uncle, even dressing up in Thorin’s big fur coat, pretending to be him, ordering the cook around to prepare this and that. 

Fíli, who had now stood up against the one man he admired more than anything in his life. 

Balin glimpsed at Thorin’s strained face and a smile, so small that it was barely visible, twitched in the corner of his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews, guys! I'm glad someone enjoys the story so far :D

They arrived in Rivendell only a few hours before nightfall. 

Gandalf led the company over the narrow bridge and was already met by Lord Elrond on the steps leading to the beautiful pavilion in which they had dined on the first evening. 

“Now what is this”, the Elf asked quietly, looking from one Dwarf to the next. “Already back after sneaking out on us just a day ago?”

His gaze rested on Thorin, who had not spoken a single word ever since they set off from the Misty Mountains. All the stress and anger seemed to have disappeared for his features looked gentle, in fact rather bored and tired, more than anything. Elrond raised his eyebrows at him but still not a single word came from Thorin’s lips.

Even the Dwarves began to look at each other, puzzled and dumbstruck. What had gotten into their leader, that he did not speak? 

Gandalf was just about to explain, when Thorin finally lifted his hand and spoke up but what he said wasn’t expected by any of them.

“Friend, I must ask you, not to speak to Lord Elrond. And neither will I. For it was not my intention to come back here and I am not the one who needs to explain himself.”

The brighter Dwarves immediately looked for Fíli, who stood well hid behind Dwalin’s broad back. Confused, he looked from one staring face to the next and suddenly felt incredibly small. He should have guessed that Thorin wouldn’t let him get away with what he had done so easily. Terrified and unable to mutter a single syllable he stood until he felt Dwalin’s large hand in his back, gently pushing him a little. 

He glanced at his brother over his shoulder, seeing him still hanging on Dwalin’s back like a puppet and, breathing deeply, stepped forward. 

“Master Elrond”, his voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat quickly, knowing that the eyes of the entire company rested on his back. He bowed. “I offer our greatest apologies for our hurried departure, not only in my name but in the name of all of us and especially in the name of my uncle.”

Gandalf chuckled quietly, glaring at Thorin who already seemed to regret his decision to let his nephew do the talking. 

“It was inappropriate and disrespectful and I hope you will accept our sincere apology.”

“I will”, Lord Elrond replied, not quite sure yet whether he should be offended or rather amused.

“My brother”, Fíli vaguely pointed back at Dwalin and Kíli, “was severely wounded by the Great Goblin down in the mountain. We do not have the means to treat his wounds, thus we returned, hoping that we may once again ask your generosity and help to heal my brother.”

Fíli’s throat felt dry and his heart had slipped somewhere down to his belly, a lump stuck in his chest. Never had he spoken to an Elf before, especially not to such an important and noble one. Remembering Thorin’s stories, he had always imagined elves as foul, ugly creatures that never moved but always judged, did nothing but drink summer wine from ivory cups and every now and then left their lair to find other creatures to degrade.

Lord Elrond remained quiet for a while, looking at the young Dwarf down at the bottom of the stairs. 

“And how grave exactly might your brothers wounds be?” he demanded.

“How grave- well, we don’t know exactly. His arm seems broken, so do some of his rips. His leg is torn as well.”

“Any wounds which a young Dwarf warrior like yourself has ever encountered before? I would be surprised if you hadn’t.”

Fíli’s hopes sank by the minute. He had imagined all this to be much easier but he could not be impatient right now. Thorin, suddenly again fuelled with anger at the Elf, who obviously tried to lure his nephew into some form of trap, was already about to step forward and intervene, when Fíli spoke up again. And every Dwarf was mildly surprised and delighted by the words of the young prince.

“Neither am I a warrior, nor have I ever seen wounds like these before. In fact, I have never travelled this far in my life and I never had to fight Goblins or other foul creatures. And never was I afraid for my brothers life before”, the young Dwarf looked straight into Lord Elrond’s eyes. “I am only standing here as an ordinary Dwarf, asking you to save my brother.”

After what seemed like an eternity, the Elf gestured towards the stairs, his features stern but not unfriendly. 

“Follow me. We will find lodging for you and your comrades and tend to your brothers wounds immediately.” 

All the weight of the world fell off Fíli’s shoulders in that exact moment. His legs trembled and while the other Dwarves walked past him, some of them patting him on the back, he remained frozen for a little while until life had returned to his toes. 

In the back, Dwalin chuntered something that suspiciously sounded like “So no proper meal again fer the next few days”, but then followed Lord Elrond, dragging Fíli along. 

Gandalf and Thorin stayed behind, Thorin seemingly unsure whether he really wanted to follow them inside this hated place once again. 

“You should be proud”, Gandalf smirked. “The boy stood his ground pretty well here.”

“Of course he did”, Thorin stated, folding his arms in front of his chest. “He’s my nephew after all.”

Hours passed and the night slowly crept across the Hidden Valley. The Elves had lit little lights in colourful lanterns dangling from the trees, torches in white and blue illuminated the gardens and terraces and from somewhere the beautiful sound of harps and bells rang across to where two Dwarves had settled down. Snugly they sat on one of the many broad sills lining a long corridor, smoking pipes, enjoying the soft, warm breeze that came from the valley, curiously watching their two younger companions. 

Bofur sat cross-legged, the familiar, mischievous glim in his eyes, smoking a pipe stuffed with the finest weed from the far East. He had feasted well, stuffed mushrooms were alright after all, and had now found entertainment in form of Fíli and Ori. Opposite him sat Dwalin, the broad back leaning against the round arch of the window, one of his large muddy boots casually planted on the light marble sill. 

“How long’s he been doin’ that now?” he asked just as Fíli rushed past them once again, closely followed by Ori.

“Dunno. A while.”

“Remarkable stamina.”

“Aye, my feet hurt just from lookin’ at it.”

Fíli had chosen to ignore the remarks coming from the window.   
Behind one of the many doors was his brother, alone and hurt and he wasn’t allowed in. Lord Elrond and two other Elves had disappeared in the room a long time ago and ever since, Fíli had been striding up and down the corridor, waiting for someone to come out. The only moment of rest had been forced on him, as they had sat him down to examine the cut on his neck and tend to it. The wound wasn’t grave and a light bandage decorated his neck, which he didn’t even seem to notice. 

During dinner, Dori had spoken of something nice to give to Fíli to soothe his nerves and had sent Ori to the Elves to get a decanter with wine and a glass on a tray. And just like that, juggling said tray, did Ori run after Fíli now, up and down the corridor. 

“Uhm, excuse me? Fíli. I’m sorry but would you like a drink?” he tried once again and once again he was ignored. 

As they waltzed past the older Dwarves again, Dwalin nicked the glass from the tray, emptied it and put it back on. Still running after Fíli, Ori quickly refilled the glass and as they passed the sill again, Dwalin again downed the wine and put it back on the tray. The game was repeated a couple of times until the older Dwarf seemingly had enough.

“Fer goodness sake, ye two are a pain in the arse”, he growled, snatching glass and decanter from Ori’s tray, handing the glass to Bofur while taking a big gulp straight out of the decanter himself. “Sit yerselves down now or I’ll break yer knees.”  
Ori immediately sat himself between them, whereas Fíli listened up. 

The door to Kíli’s room opened and Lord Elrond stepped on the corridor, followed by his fellows. 

“And?” Fíli didn’t hesitate a second, rushing over to the Elves. “How is he? Is he alright?”

Raising his eyebrows, Elrond examined Fíli for a brief moment. Ever since they had arrived, Fíli had neither washed the blood of his hands or face, nor cared about the dirt and his tattered clothes. He looked horrible. 

“Well”, he began. “Your brother has indeed broken a few bones. Unfortunately we cannot do more for him, than splint his arm and support his ribs, the bones will have to heal by themselves. The wound on his leg has been taken care of.”

Fíli wasn’t exactly sure if these were good news or not.

“And how long will it take for his bones to heal?”

“A while, young Master Dwarf. A while I’m afraid. But no worries, you have a very powerful wizard on your side and I heard that there is even a skilled apothecary travelling with you”, Lord Elrond smiled benignly. “He needs a good rest now and some peace and quietness.”

“Oh”, disappointment crept into every cell of Fíli’s body. “So I won’t be able to see him now.”

“Oh no, sure you will”, the Elven Lord gestured towards the door. “He asked for you.”

Of course nothing could stop the youngster anymore.   
He quickly bowed before he immediately rushed to the door to Kíli’s bedroom, gleaming with excitement and happiness. At the door, he abruptly stopped however, his fingers shaking as he pushed down the handle. What if he didn’t want to see him? What if he remembered that all of this was his fault? Frozen to the spot, he just stared at the door, until he heard Bofur’s voice in his back.

“Well go on now, you stupid twat!”

As Fíli quietly slipped into the room, Dwalin shook his tattooed head.

“Kids these days.”

“Tiring.”

“Any more wine then?” he looked at Bofur as he squeezed the empty decanter in poor Ori’s hands. “More wine!”

The blue and turquoise light from the paper lanterns in the trees illuminated the room, bathing it in cool blues and purples. A light, wooden bed stood at the end below the high windows and underneath the ivory coloured blankets lay Kíli.   
He looked up when the door opened and as soon as he recognised his brother, a broad smile appeared on his face. Just three quick steps and Fíli had crossed the room to be pulled into a tight embrace. He felt Kíli’s fingers digging deep into his dirty clothes, felt his brother’s cheek pressed against his and his smile, that made him smile in return. Never in his life, not once, had he been so happy.

“We made it”, Kíli whispered.

“I know”, Fíli replied, finally letting go after what seemed like an eternity. 

Though he sat up next to his brother, their fingers remained entwined upon the blanket and this time, they surely wouldn’t let go anymore. Kíli’s hands cleaned and pale in the dim light, Fíli’s hands still bloody and scratched.

“How are you feeling?” the elder asked, concern swinging in his voice. 

“A lot better now”, Kíli beamed, squeezing his brother’s hands. “They have this really good stuff for pain, can’t remember what they called it but it’s better than Master Burglars weed!” 

“Ah”, Fíli began, before he suspiciously narrowed his eyes. “Wait, are you high right now?”

“I don’t know!”

For a brief moment, they just looked at each other, then burst out laughing. A heart filled laughter, relief and joy resounding from the walls of the bedroom, so loud and so full of bliss, that even the Elves down in the gardens looked up to the bedroom windows, wondering what beautiful happening had caused that sound. For they knew what joy was but barely any of them had ever known the joy of seeing a brother alive. This was a joy only for the mortals.

They laughed and talked until the moon stood high above the valley and the lanterns in the gardens faded one by one. 

“I thought I’d lost you, you know”, Fíli quietly admitted, as the singing and music had ceased and high spirits of the brothers had turned into a silent, warm, contentment. 

“Hm”, Kíli smiled. “I thought I’d lost me too. For a moment. But I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry.”

The youngest looked up to his brother. “For what?”

“All of this”, Fíli gestured to the bed, the bandaged arm, the bruise on Kíli’s face. “If I had just kept my mouth shut, they-“

“Don’t say that.”

It rarely happened that Kíli got to lecture his older brother. Usually Fíli was the mature one, the sensible one who needed no lecturing anymore. The one that, as Kíli often thought, had grown up to be so perfect. But never, not even once, had he been jealous of his brother. 

“You tried to protect me. That’s what brothers do, right?”

“Right”, Fíli replied after a brief moment, a gentle smile on his lips. 

When dawn came and the other Dwarves snuck in to check on Kíli, they found the brothers sleeping side by side, one under, one above the blankets. All the anxiety, all the pain had fallen from them, their faces calm and quiet. The only one still missing from the company, was its leader. Thorin hadn’t spent the night in an Elvish bed but sat awake or wandered around the gardens by the river. And during all of those hours of wandering, he came to realisations and decisions and he sat by the river and waited for the Hidden Valley to wake up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch to Shapesfrom221B for the lovely review! :) I hope you will enjoy the following Chapter as well.

Sometime after lunch on the following day, an Elf knocked on the door to Kíli’s room. As expected, the brothers had spent the entire morning together, not being separated even once and nobody really tried to. While Thorin had come by sometime over breakfast, not saying a single word to Fíli but merrily chatting with Kíli, he had spent midday with Balin and Gandalf, offside the garden of the Elves since he still refused to stay within the House of Elrond for longer than necessary. The remaining Dwarves and the Hobbit had either tried their best or worst not to irritate the Elves, whereat Bifur and Bofur had not only managed to plunder Lord Elrond’s wine cellar but also to break a vase from the Second Age. After an estimation of its monetary value by treasurer Glóin, they had sunk the shards in the river, hoping that no one would notice.

As it knocked on the door, the two youngsters sat on the bed, busy playing cards, smoking pipes and betting on other peoples’ money. Both of them looked up when the Elf entered the room. 

“The Lord of Thorin’s Halls requests to see his older nephew”, he explained, sounding so noble that Kíli wrinkled his nose. 

“What, now?” Fíli asked, puzzled. Had Thorin suddenly changed his mind or was he in for the worst dressing down of his life?

“He is out by the pavilion. If you would follow me?”

“If you go now, I’ll win!” Kíli bluntly decided but quickly hushed when he noticed the distressed look on his brother’s face. “He’ll be there in a minute”, he stated and more or less shooed the Elf out of the room. 

“This is going to be the end of me”, Fíli stated blankly. 

“Oh come on now, don’t be such an Elf”, Kíli grumbled, whereby one needs to know that Elf had become their new term for _dramaqueen_.

“He despises me. I know it. I just know it.”

“He doesn’t despise you, you’re his family.”

“He’ll be angry.”

“Yes, but he’s always angry so that doesn’t matter. Just go and listen to what he has to say. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Kíli reached for his brother’s hand and gently squeezed it. 

“You will sort that out, right? Families shouldn’t fight.”

Fíli gave a crooked smile before he got up and left the room, looking over his shoulder at the door to find his widely grinning brother, obviously still high on the elvish medication. Oh how he sometimes wished to be so carefree.

Thorin awaited him at the pavilion looking over the river, seemingly calm and collected, still Fíli hesitated for a moment, before he stepped onto the marble floor. They stood surrounded by beautiful light pillars entwined by bright green ivy that formed the roof of the pavilion. For a moment, Fíli just stood amazed by the sheer beauty of the place, before Thorin spoke up.

“I see you finally washed yourself”, his voice sounded just as calm as the look on his face was.

“Well, yes.”

“How is your neck?”

“Better.”

The youngster awkwardly shuffled from one foot to the next, touching the white bandage around his neck, that peaked from his thick leather vest, not really sure where to look. 

“Are you aware of what you did yesterday?”

Fíli closed his eyes for a brief moment. He knew it. He knew it all along, Thorin had called him here to tell him off and he would have no other choice but to agree and apologize. 

“Not only did you offend me”, Thorin began, well aware of the pain he caused his nephew right now. “You also disrespected me before our comrades and ridiculed me before an Elf. Not once in my life has anyone ever spoken to me like that.” 

“I’m so-“, Fíli began but Thorin cut him off with a sharp “Shut your mouth when I’m talking to you!”

Fíli flinched, his gaze fixed on his boots. 

For a long while Thorin did not say anything, eyeing his nephew and somewhere in the back they heard the calm splashing of the Bruinen. 

“I’ve never been more proud of you.”

Immediately Fíli’s gaze rocketed upwards, staring at his uncle in sheer disbelief. 

“What?”

“Remember when I told you that it is the upmost duty of any Dwarf and especially of an heir of Durin, to protect their loved ones?”

“Yes”, Fíli replied, unsure of what was to come.

“Yesterday your learned the lesson that sometimes, it is even necessary to protect them from their own kin. And you protected your brother bravely.”

“But I messed up. I caused all of this in the first place!”

“And you stood up for it. You did what you thought was right and I can ask no more from you than that.”

A massive weight fell from Fíli’s chest. His legs felt wobbly, his heart was racing and for a moment he believed to pass out but firmly stood his ground. Thorin smirked a little, content with the distress he had caused his nephew and thereby probably taught him yet another lesson. To face one’s fears.

He stepped towards the youngster and pulled him into a tight embrace, that Fíli returned, relieved and loving. As they parted again, Thorin placed his hands on his nephew’s shoulders and Fíli finally recognized the stern but caring father figure again, that Thorin had always been for him and his brother.

“I better take over again from here on, shan’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, please do. If I have to deal with Elves one more time I will go mad.”

And his uncle laughed and Fíli laughed with him, like they had always done in the old days in Thorin’s Halls, the Kingdom in the Blue Mountains.

In the evening, the Dwarves had prepared a bonfire on the wide balcony of Kíli’s room, letting their injured pet of the family enjoy the feast with them. They were jolly and noisy, feasting on various Elvish delicacies and even a wild boar, that Dwalin had brought, declaring he was ‘sick of d’em friggin’ weeds!’.  
Bilbo, who had still not gotten used to Dwarvish festivity, sat amongst them, a pint of mead in both hands, listening to the stories and jokes, smiling gleefully. Their song and laughter occasionally caused an Elf to glare up to the balcony but none of them dared to cut in on the unvented party, for they were quite glad that the Dwarves stayed among themselves and did not wander around the city.

Thorin and Fíli had both settled down on Kíli’s bed, one to each side of the youngest and chatted amongst each other, occasionally cheering Bombur on, who had a bet going with Nori and Bofur as to how many grilled onions he could eat without having to fart.  
The pain and anger of the previous days seemed long forgotten and at the back of the balcony, Gandalf and Balin sat together, both smiling contently at the reunited family. 

When nightfall came and the bonfire had burned down to a smoulder, they grabbed their flutes and fiddles, fireflies dancing to the tunes and the deep voices of the Dwarves echoed across the valley.

"The world was young, the mountains green,  
No stain yet on the moon was seen,  
No words were laid on stream or stone,  
When Durin woke and walked alone." 

Kíli sat listening, his eyes closed, leaning against his brothers’ shoulder. His leg itched and his ribs hurt but none of that mattered. They had made it, they were here and as soon as his wounds had healed a little better, they would set off again on the most exciting journey of his life. 

"He named the nameless hills and dells,  
He drank from yet untasted wells,  
He stooped and looked at Mirrormere,  
And saw a crown of stars appear,  
As gems upon a silver thread,  
Above the shadow of his head."

Just as Kíli was about to fall asleep, comfortable and warm between his brother and his uncle, did they hear fast steps approaching from below. 

“Thorin Oakenshield!”, Lord Elrond’s voice thundered through the corridor and the tall Elf entered the room without a knock or any hesitation, followed by a flock of his own kin. The music ebbed away, the Dwarves staring at the Lord of Rivendell. Thorin quickly looked from one Dwarf to the other, wondering if they had caused any trouble again but none of them seemed aware of such.

“Lord Elrond?” the dwarf replied calmly, getting up from his seat. 

“I must ask you and your kin to leave Rivendell immediately.”

Thorin stared at Lord Elrond in disbelief. He thus didn’t notice Bofur leaning over to Bifur, whispering a quiet “Bollocks, they found that pot!” Little did they know. 

“Leave? Tonight?” Thorin required. 

“Yes”, the Elven Lord seemed unusually stiff. “It seems that word has gone round of your slaying of the Great Goblin down in the Misty Mountains.” 

“So?”

“The allies of the Goblins are gathering on the other side of the mountain. We do not yet know to what purpose but it cannot be anything good.”

Kíli’s hand searched for Fíli’s on the blankets and Fíli clasped his brothers fingers reassuringly, even though insecurity was written all over his face.

“But you can not send us away now. What about my brother?” he demanded.

Though Kíli had grown to his old cheerful self again, due to the Elvish medicine he was given against the pain, his wounds healed slowly. The broken bones still caused him pain, the young Dwarf wore his arm in a sling, his ribs forcing him to be careful when he moved, laughed and breathed. The wound on his leg would heal off soon but walking was painful, running impossible. 

“I can not risk troops of Orcs raiding Rivendell, looking for you. Not only will you not be safe here, your presence is putting the life of my kin at risk.”

With every word that Lord Elrond spoke, Thorin’s face grew darker. The anger at his nephew for insisting on returning to Rivendell had faded but a new anger awoke in the King. The anger at himself for believing that they would actually, for once, receive earnest help from the Elves. 

“So that’s how it is”, he growled, alerting Dwalin and Bifur, who already grabbed their weapons but Thorin raised his hand, signalling them to stay back. “I might have known.”

Lord Elrond did not reply, looking at Thorin with his chin held high. 

“Comrades, pack your belongings”, Thorin ordered. “We’re leaving. There is no need to stay in a place where we are not welcome.”

“No, Thorin! What about Kíli?” Fíli demanded, his worried glance scurrying from his uncle to Lord Elrond and back again.

“We will provide you with supplies and enough medication for the next few days”, Elrond offered. “You shall also have two mules, one for the provisions, one for your brother to ride on. I can not offer you anymore.”

Thorin was close to turning the proposal down in the most offensive way possible, when he glanced at Kíli and remembered that walking, especially walking at a fast pace, was impossible for his nephew.

“Agreed”, he therefore replied but no sign of gratitude showed on his features, as he merely regarded the offer as a matter of course.

A few moments later, their belongings were packed. They were back in full armour, their weapons in place and Kíli hobbled down the stairs of the pavilion, leaning on his brother and Dori, to find a rather small but chuffy, grey mule standing by the bridge. He immediately missed the ponies. 

“Don’t worry, young Heir of Durin, those mules are sturdy and sure-footed on mountain paths”, Elrond explained. 

“They better be”, Thorin snarled as he passed the Elf Lord to join his kin. 

The sun had already begun to rise over the mountains when they left Rivendell, Fíli leading Kíli’s mule while Glóin led a black one carrying their supplies. Gandalf and Thorin walked at the tip of the company and for a while, Gandalf was unsure whether speaking to the King of Thorin’s Halls would be a wise idea until Thorin himself spoke up again.

“So what path do we take from here, Master Wizard?”

“Hm, I wonder”, the wizard muttered, glancing back at Kíli who did not seem to enjoy the rocky ride on the back of his mule, flinching every now and then, holding his ribs. “We could travel across the High Pass again, hoping that this time we will stay unnoticed or-“, Gandalf trailed off.

“Or what?” Thorin asked.

“Or we take the long way round the mountain and pass through the Gap of Rohan.”

Thorin didn’t look too pleased. Travelling through the Gap of Rohan surely sounded like the safest way, but it would delay them by weeks. Time they did not have, since Thorin was still afraid that the Men of the Wilderland would plunder his treasure in Erebor before their arrival. 

“So”, Gandalf asked. “What do you propose?”

“We’ll let Kíli decide”, Thorin declared, looking back at his nephew who nearly slipped off his mule.

“What, me?”

The whole company turned around and curiously looked at their youngest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin really isn't very creative with praise but then again, he rarely gives any ;)  
> Thanks for your review Shapesfrom221B! :D

“Lads? Laaa~ds! I’d like to revoke my decision. Please?”

The small grey mule stalked across the gravelly, narrow path and didn’t look too happy with the situation. Neither did her rider. As they reached midday, the sun shone down mercilessly at them and since Kíli was the one, more or less, comfortably riding a mule, most of the members of the company had loaded their luggage on the poor animal as well. Thus Kíli found himself between sacks and satchels, holding onto the vast collection of Óin’s herbs, as well as Ori’s leather-bound book, that was however off limits to the young Dwarf. 

The party travelled swiftly, each of them fighting with the heat. Below them lay the deep caverns of the Misty Mountains and the few overlaying rocks above their heads only offered temporary shadow. Since Kíli had decided on trying the High Pass once more, Gandalf had made clear that they would not halt for rest and take the highest of the two paths, connecting Rivendell to the west and the Men-i-Naugrim, the old Dwarven road to the east that led them directly into the Mirkwood, further to the Celduin and finally to the Long Lake, where they had planned to settle for a while before travelling on to Erebor. 

A certain insecurity had crept amongst them, ever since they had entered the path. Fear of the Rock Giants made them a little paranoid and every now and then, one would point at a rock up above because he thought it moved. Goblin-Town lay below them, deep in the mountains. 

“Lads?”

“You’ve made your decision, now live with it”, Thorin yelled back from the tip of the company. The leader strutted ahead and seemed surprisingly content with the decision of his nephew. Though he wasn’t keen on facing any more Goblins, the way through the Gap of Rohan would have taken too much precious time. 

“You alright up there?” Fíli looked up to his brother. He still led the mule by her reins, making sure that Kíli’s injured leg did not bump against any rocks to their sides. 

“Yeah”, Kíli grimaced, not wanting to admit that the rocking and tripping of the mule made his ribs hurt with every single step. “I’m fine.”

“No time for chit-chatting there! We must hurry, unless you want to spend the night on the path”, Gandalf reminded them. 

“Will we make it over the path then, before nightfall?” Bofur asked, ramming his battle axe into the ground as a hiking aid. 

“Not entirely”, Gandalf admitted. “But if we keep up the speed, we will make it to one of the lower platforms, far enough from the Goblin-Town.”

“And that is not too dangerous then?” Bilbo chirped up, walking ahead of Fíli, occasionally being nudged gently in the back by the older brother to prevent the mule from stepping onto his naked heels. 

The two youngsters exchanged a quick glance, smirks growing on both their faces.

“Dangerous? Nah, no worries Master Hobbit”, Kíli began. 

“The Goblins down there are leaderless now, it’ll be a complete chaos”, Fíli continued. “They won’t even know what to do. I doubt that they’ll come out on the slopes tonight.”

“Oh but wait”, Kíli contemplatively lifted a hand to his chin. “What if they venture out tonight to come looking for us? We killed their king after all!”

“You mean they’ll sneak out of the mountain in the middle of the night when it’s pitch black and you cannot even see your own hand before your eyes and they will crawl up the mountain to find us and slay us in our sleep?” Fíli asked innocently.

Bilbo had grown paler and paler with every word.

“Something like that, yes”, Kíli approved.

“Oh well”, Fíli shrugged. “As long as the Balrog doesn’t wake up.”

“B-b-b-balrog?!” Bilbo shrieked, immediately causing the brothers to break into laughter, occasionally disrupted by a half amused, half plagued “Ouch!” from Kíli, whose ribs still hurt whenever he laughed. 

“Boys, what did I tell you about bullying the Hobbit?” Thorin asked from the front. 

“That it is all fun and games until he has a heart attack”, they replied in union, rolling their eyes. Bilbo blinked irritated. 

“You two keep on joking”, Balin muttered in front of the hobbit. “Especially you on the mule there! You barely made it out alive!”

“But I live, don’t I?” Kíli determined cheerfully. Maybe they were too young. The scare of the previous days still sat in their bones but youthful carelessness quickly made them forget about the dangers of this world. Had they seen the dragon, had they actually been there that day in Erebor, their minds would most likely be less carefree. 

The day passed by and by the time that nightfall came, they had walked far more than half of the path across the Misty Mountains. No Rock Giants had shown themselves and no noise had emerged from the depth below their feet. 

They decided to camp on a small plateau, avoiding any form of cave, a solid stonewall in their back so that nothing could sneak up upon them during the night. Nori, Bofur and Bombur even checked the firmness of the ground to make sure that they wouldn’t fall into another trap.  
No fire was made, they had mead, dark bread and jerky and as the moon had risen above the peaks of the mountains, they picked Fíli and Bilbo as their lookouts. Kíli, a little hyper from the medication, decided to stay up with them even though sleep would have been the best for him. 

“What do we need lookouts for anyways?” Bilbo asked, wrapping himself in a light blanket, leaning against the mountain. “We can’t see anything anyways in this darkness.”

“Just because you can’t see anything, doesn’t mean other creatures can’t either”, Fíli reminded him, for once not meaning to scare the hobbit.  
Kíli sat by his brother’s side, lazily chewing on the Elvish medication. It didn’t taste too nice but it helped and he only needed very little of it.

“What is it anyways, that you’re eating there?” the hobbit asked curiously.

“They said it’s poppy seeds”, Kíli replied. “Never knew they helped but they do.”

“They’re probably bewitched”, Fíli remarked and Kíli grinned broadly. “Sung upon in the moonlight by a waterfall while strands of silver decorate the holy altar?”

“Precisely like that”, his brother replied bemused, even making Bilbo smirk a little. The one thing he had learned so far, was that Dwarves and Elves did not get along, though he didn’t yet know why exactly. 

They quietly joked along, the moon rising higher and higher above them and no sound was audible except for the occasional grunting or snoring of one of their companions.  
The better they heard the sudden but quiet tic-tac in the dark, that came from a plateau a few feet below their position.

“Shhh, did you hear that?” Kíli asked, looking from his brother to Bilbo, who shook his head. 

Something clicked again in the black deep and Fíli slowly got up from his spot by the wall to peek over the brim of the plateau. Below them lay nothing but impenetrable darkness and as he looked up to the sky, he noticed the moon disappearing behind some thick, dark clouds. The mules suddenly became anxious, tip tapping and pressing against the stonewall. 

“Can you see anything?” Kíli whispered but Fíli merely shrugged. 

“Boys, if you’re just trying to take the micky again-“, Bilbo began but was quickly shushed by Kíli, who slowly and quietly hobbled over to his brother, closely followed by Master Baggins who did not want to stay behind on his own. 

Another clicking came from below.

“There’s something moving down there”, Fíli whispered.

“Goblins?!” the hobbit squealed anxiously, but Fíli shook his head. “Goblins wouldn’t be that quiet. It’s something else.”

“The Balrog?!”, Bilbo nearly panicked.

“Master Baggins, do you know what a Balrog is?” Kíli inquired curiously.

“Not exactly”, Bilbo admitted, earning himself a content “Thought so” from the younger brother. “Trust me, if this was a Balrog, you would know.” 

“Well, what is it then?”

Just then, a large shadow emerged from a narrow pass and they heard a quiet sniffing sound coming from below. Bilbo squinted his eyes but couldn’t see properly. Another shadow followed the first. 

“What in Durins-“, in exactly this moment, the moon broke through the clouds, revealing the dark, shadowy frames of two massive beasts, big as oxen. Their fur was thick and dirty grey, their paws large as plates and massive fangs peeked from underneath their flews.

“Get down!” Kíli hissed and quicker than lightning did the three of them press themselves against the stony ground, Kíli gritting his teeth, not to cry out in pain.

“What on earth are those things?” Bilbo nearly collapsed, as he had never seen such abominable creatures before. 

“Wargs”, Fíli growled. 

They robbed a little closer to the edge, peeking down again. 

The massive animals moved slowly on the plateau below them, sniffing the ground and the surrounding air. It seemed as if they were looking for something, sometimes raising their large, furry heads into the night sky, searching for a scent to pick up. Their eyes were reflected by the moonlight and gleamed yellow in the dark. The closer they came, the better did they hear the razor-sharp claws scratching on the stone.

Fíli’s hand slowly moved to his boots to draw one of his daggers.

“Give me the other one”, Kíli whispered.

“But you can’t fight!”

“Give me the other one”, the youngest insisted. “I can hardly shoot an arrow right now but my right arm works just fine.”

Fíli looked displeased but nonetheless drew the other dagger as well, pressing it into Kíli’s sound hand. 

“You- you don’t really want to fight them now, do you?” Bilbo asked, fear spilling over in his voice.

“Not if it’s not necessary.”

“We should tell Thorin!”

“Wait!” Fíli held him back. 

Both Wargs were sniffing the air now, their fangs held up to the sky. One of them suddenly yanked its massive head and stared directly at the plateau that the company rested on. The three lookouts quickly ducked down even further, until they were firmly pressed to the ground. The beast let out a terrifying, deep growl and for a moment, their hearts stopped. 

Bilbo already believed it to be the end of them, when the beasts looked at each other and continued on their way, trotting off into the darkness below, their noses dragging along the ground again. Only when the clicking of the claws faded, did the dwarves and the involuntary burglar dare to breathe again. 

“Where in Durin’s name did these come from?” Fíli asked and flinched badly, when he heard Thorin’s voice in his back. 

“From the Rhovanion I suppose.”

Bilbo let out a squeal and nearly toppled over, closer to the heart attack than any of the boys could ever manage.

“Get away from the edge”, Thorin ordered quietly. When Kíli tried to get up, he hissed sharply, leaning too much onto his left arm. Fíli pulled him up gently and helped him back to the stonewall. 

After they had wrapped Bilbo in a blanket and handed him some mead to soothe his nerves, Thorin sat with the boys, unable to fall asleep again. 

“What did they want in the mountains?” Kíli asked, again chewing on a few poppy seeds. 

“I don’t know”, Thorin admitted. “It is unusual for Wargs to venture into the mountains. Some have been seen down at the slopes, but I never heard of them actually travelling on the mountain path.”

“They seemed to be looking for something”, Fíli mentioned, casually patting poor Bilbos back. 

Elrond’s words about the allies of the goblins gathering rang in Thorin’s head. It was well known that the Wargs and the Orcs of the Misty Mountains occasionally joined forces to raid the villages across the Wilderlands but that did not explain why those two had come up into the mountains. 

“Could they have been searching for us?” Kíli asked quietly and the longer Thorin took with his reply, the clearer it became.

“Possibly”, he finally agreed. “Though I wouldn’t know why. A dead Goblin shouldn’t be a bother to them.”

“You speak of those things as if they had some form of consciousness!” Bilbo blurted out. “Stop that, will you?!”

“Well”, Thorin mumbled. “They do. Wargs are no mere wolves Master Baggins.”  
Thorin’s nephews skid a little closer, keen on hearing the story, whereas Bilbo wished to be somewhere else entirely. 

“Some say they are inhabited by demons that make them smarter, larger, stronger and more agile than ordinary wolves. Others say they were bred and bewitched by Morgoth during the First Age but nobody really knows where they came from.”

“Hah!” Bilbo exhaled. “Possessed wolves. Hahaha! Yes! Well, let’s hope we’ll never encounter them again, shan’t we?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible Master Baggins. After all, we’re venturing straight into their territory right now.”


	7. Chapter 7

In the late afternoon of the following day, they reached the bottom of the Misty Mountains. They had neither encountered Goblins, nor Stone Giants and Thorin hadn’t mentioned the Wargs to his companions. The journey across the High Pass had been stressful enough for each of them without the lurking danger of two beasts on their trace.

When they came from the pass, squeezing through one by one, Gandalf waited on the side, doing his usual headcount. 

“Thorin, Dwalin, Bofur, Bifur, Dori, Nori, Ori, Balin, Bilbo, Bombur, Glóin including mule, Óin and- where are the boys?”

“CAN YOU TELL YOUR EFFING STUPID MULE TO STOP EATING MY HAIR?!”

“Ah, there they are”, Gandalf nodded, eyeing Thorin who did not seem too impressed with his nephews behaviour. 

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Kíli asked as the brothers and the mule appeared from the pass. “Kindly ask her to refrain from chewing on your hair?”

“It would be a start!” Fíli mumbled, fiddling with the barrette holding his headdress in shape, the reins between his teeth. The only one seemingly content was the mule.

“What way now?” Bofur asked, playfully pulling on one of Fíli’s braids as he passed, earning himself a slap on the fingers. 

“Straight ahead Master Dwarf. Straight ahead. The worst part of the journey lies behind us”, the wizard replied gleefully and everyone breathed deeply. 

They travelled on, following the old path towards the Carrock by the Great River of Wilderland. Leaving the mountains behind made them cheerful and carefree and they sang as they travelled along, joked and told each other stories. Though the rocking of the mule pressed on Kíli’s ribs and his arm in the sling had began to annoy him, the youngster was high-spirited, occasionally waving a strand of Fíli’s hair in front of the mules nose to see if she would try to eat it again. Unnecessary to mention that his brother wasn’t exactly happy with this.

The evening went on and by nightfall they reached a small wooded areal, covered in bushes and rocks. They already heard the river Anduin in the far distance, when Gandalf suddenly halted. 

“What is it?” Thorin asked but the wizard merely shushed him, pressing his finger against his lips.

The shadows of the trees suddenly seemed to grow longer and darker, crawling across the dry grass and as they reached the hoofs of Kíli’s mule, the animal took a leap to the side, buckling and could hardly be restrained by Fíli. His brother bravely held on but every little step and jump made him grit his teeth. 

“What’s wrong with her?!” he inquired but Fíli merely shrugged. 

“I don’t know. There’s nothing there.” 

Just as Bofur and Glóin stepped up to aid the youngsters, a massive shadow leaped from the thick brushwood and bushes to the sides of the road, directly followed by a second and a third one.

“WARGS! DRAW YOUR WEAPONS!” Gandalf yelled.

The first Warg, a beast of a light dirty brown, seemed to show no interest in the company however. He went straight for the mule carrying the provisions, buried it’s enormous fangs in the poor animal and swept it along for a few feet until his brother was with him, ripping the mule to shreds. 

The Dwarves watched in horror, their weapons drawn, as the Wargs began to feed on the torn corpse. Their provisions were scattered across the place, most of it broken and useless.

The bushes to their sides began to rustle violently and hadn’t Fíli and Dwalin quick-witted grabbed Kíli and pulled him off his mule and to the rest of the group, he would’ve been swept away by another attacking beast, pulling the second mule to the ground and off into the bushes.

“No”, Kíli whispered in shock, not even minding his own pain as he saw his small grey girl being dragged away, kicking and crying. 

A deep growl in their backs made them flinch and as they spun around they found another Warg standing atop a ledge, looking down at them with bared fangs. 

It was the most horrible animal that any of them had ever seen. The Warg was pitch black, one of its ears ripped and its ugly face scarred from battles and fights. A mane of thick, black fur covered its shoulders and chest and its claws dug deep into the solid rock below its paws. It was remarkably bigger than it’s fellows that still feasted on the poor mules. The Warg’s eyes gleamed in the dim light of the forest, a green flame burning in them and Bilbo began to believe that this beast was really possessed by an evil spirit. 

Another deep growl came from the massive animal, the pitch varying as if he was actually forming words that none of them understood. None, except for Gandalf, who clasped his staff in one hand, his sword drawn in the other and began to translate.

_“The goblin butcher with the oaken shield. Didn’t think we’d find you that soon, scum of Durin.”_

Neither of the Dwarves had ever heard the language of the Wargs. It sent shivers down their spines and made the hair on their necks stand up, as the words were drenched with malice and a lust to kill. 

_“But here you are.”_

The Warg flattened his ears, snarling as if he was grinning down at them. His kin desisted from the dead mules, now turning to the dwarves as well and soon had them circled, their teeth and mouths glistening red. 

“Who sent you?!” Thorin bellowed, Orcrist gleaming in his hands. 

The Warg started for a second, his torn ears curiously directed at Thorin, before the most dreadful noise emerged from the animal, loud as thunder and echoing from the rocks and trees around them. The massive beast laughed at them and all the ferocity of the world lay in that sound. 

Fíli held his brother tight by his side, clutching one of his swords and staring at the Warg in fear. Not even the Great Goblin had been that monstrous. 

_“You would like to know, wouldn’t you?”_

The Warg seemed to sneer at the King of Thorin’s Halls, his eyes suddenly fixed on the two youngsters. He sniffed. At realising that the boys shared the same scent as Thorin, his green eyes widened and the sneer grew even more. 

_“He told us to get your head alone. Wonder how he would like it if we wiped out Durin’s heirs entirely.”_

Thorin protectively stepped in front of his nephews, not once breaking his gaze at the Warg. 

“Try it and I will slay you and your kind mercilessly until none of you is left in these lands!”

The Warg flattened his ears again, digging its claws in the stone below. 

_“KILL THEM!”_

All hell broke loose.

One Warg went for Ori, Bofur and Nori, digging its teeth deep into Bofur’s pickaxe, pulling so violently that it sent the Dwarf flying.

Another sprinted towards Bilbo and Dwalin, who greeted it with an enormous swing from with his axe, cutting deep into its shoulder, only fuelling the beast’s rage even more. 

Bifur and Dori faced the third one, bringing down their weapons onto it but the thick fur seemed hard as steel.

The fourth turned on Gandalf, Bombur and Balin, not the least intimidated by Glamdring, the wizards famous sword. Instead it sank its fangs into the staff and began to pull fitfully.

The fifth now, the black, enormous leader of the pack leaped directly at Thorin and his nephews. A deafening clangour was heard when the Wargs direful teeth dashed onto Orcrist’s blade and Thorin nearly lost his foothold, being shoved aside with one single move of the wolves massive head. 

When it turned on the boys, it was met by a single swing of Fíli’s sword, ripping a deep cut into the beasts snout. 

“Kíli! Get out of here!” he yelled, facing the snarling animal that didn’t seem too pleased about the blood dripping from its nose. 

“What?” the youngest looked puzzled. The pain in his ribs became worse by the minute, clouding his mind and making his vision blurry, since he had been ripped off the mules back so suddenly. 

The beast suddenly howled as Thorin rammed Orcrist into its flank. 

“Hide! Both of you!” he screamed as the Warg spun around, it’s jaws crashing together and only missing Thorin by a few inches. 

Fíli grabbed his brother and pulled him up, dragging him along to the ledge that prominently stood amongst the trees. 

“Fíli! Fíli, stop, I- I can’t!” Kíli panted, clenching his jaws in pain.

“You have to! We have to get you away from here!” Fíli replied, though seeing his brother in so much pain and knowing that he was the one causing it right now, nearly tore his heart into shreds. 

He pulled his younger brother closer, placing Kíli’s right arm around his neck and dragged him on further, past the ledge and into the brushwood. 

“What about the others?” Kíli pressed through clenched teeth. 

“We’ll get you to a safe spot first, then we’ll worry about the rest!”

A determination lay on Fílis features that Kíli had never seen before. Little did he know, that his brother had sworn to himself to protect him and never get so close to losing him ever again, as he had down in the mountain. 

They made it to the edge of the forest before Kíli collapsed. Before them was nothing but dried grassland, flecked with rocks and the occasional broom. Fíli led his brother to a narrow stone, sitting him down and leaning his back against the solid rock. 

“You’ll be fine, alright? We’ll all be fine”, he tried to calm him, gently brushing a dark strand of hair from his brother’s forehead. 

Meanwhile Thorin had managed to slash up the beast pretty badly. The animal was bleeding from various cuts but no wound seemed to be lethal or even painful enough to slow it down. Rather the opposite, every new cut that went through the thick fur enraged the Warg even further. He violently snapped at the Dwarf, trying to rip Orcrist from Thorin’s hands but always missing by an inch. 

It wasn’t until a second Warg, the light brown one that had dashed through the bushes first, came to its aid that Thorin found himself in real trouble. With one beast before him and one in his back, he stood outnumbered. The Warg had managed to isolate him from the rest of the company and he was alone, his sword directed at the black Warg. 

“You can not defeat me!” he growled and though he could not understand the words of the Warg, he could tell by the glistening eyes, the bared fangs and the sheer madness in its face, that those monsters were not willing to back off. 

He swung his sword again, slashing it through the terrible grimace of the beast. The Warg howled with pain as the blade cut through the side of its face, blinding him on one eye. It was in that moment, that the other Warg attacked, burying its teeth in Thorin’s leg, ripping him off his feet and dragging him away from its leader. 

_“Rip his head off!”_

The Warg licked the blood of its flews, shaking its enormous black head to get rid of the blood running down its snout. With that he sprinted off, leaving Thorin to the brown beast that still tore at his leg ignoring the blade flying by its head in a rage. 

Sweat was running down Kíli’s temples and his chest felt like it was about to burst from the pain. His arm and leg throbbed badly and he barely recognized his brother, as Fíli cowered before him, worry showing on his face.

“Promise me you’ll be alright”, he quietly mumbled and Kíli coughed, giving a crooked smile. 

“I promise”, he whispered. 

Fíli smiled wearily, taking a deep breath. 

“We’ll be safe soon. Don’t worry. And just wait until we arrive at Erebor and finally see our home.” 

A small, honest smile tugged at Kíli’s lips, before his eyes suddenly grew wide in shock.

“FÌLI!” he cried as the black Warg leaped from the brushwood and directly went for Thorin’s heir.


	8. Chapter 8

The clangour of blades was audible throughout the entire forest. 

It was Dwalin who killed one of the beasts first, bringing his massive axes down on the animals neck once, then once more until its nasty head rolled across the grass, right in front of poor Bilbo’s feet. The Hobbit fought bravely not to vomit and was quickly pulled along by Dwalin to aid the rest of the company. 

Since the light brown monster, that had attacked Bifur and Dori had disappeared, allegedly fled the battle, the two had gone on to aid Gandalf and Balin and as soon as Dwalin and Bilbo arrived, Glamdring pierced through the Wargs chest and killed it.

Only a few moments later, Bofur buried his pickaxe deep into his opponent’s skull. 

They stood still for a moment, trying to regain their breath, looking from one dead Warg to the other.

“That was most unusual”, Gandalf muttered, quite reluctant to put his weapons away just yet.

“Where is Thorin?” Bilbo suddenly chirped up and then panic broke out. 

“Split up”, Balin ordered. “Be careful. We must find Thorin and the boys!”

Thorin, in the meantime had managed to turn onto his back but was still unable to get back onto his feet. He kicked the beast in its ugly face numerous times, certain that he broke various bones in its skull but the Warg didn’t seem to care much. He had tasted Dwarven blood and was eager for more. 

Letting go of Thorin’s leg, he towered over the King and growled in a direful tone. Thorin did not understand and did not care. He lifted Orcrist to take another swing at the animals face but the Warg was quicker. His teeth sank onto the blade, this time effectively ripping it from Thorin’s hands. The sword flew through the air and got stuck in a nearby tree trunk.

The Warg seemed to sneer at him.   
With his weapon gone and his leg injured, chances grew slim for the Dwarven King, yet no sign of fear showed on Thorin’s face. Rather a grim determination to take the animal out with bare hands if he had to. 

When the enormous teeth came down the first time, Thorin managed to kick the Wargs chest, causing him to back off a little. He did not get far however, before the huge animal was above him once again and once again he bit down on the Dwarf, this time burying his teeth deeply into the thick fur of Thorin’s coat, right above his throat. He felt the wolf rip and tear at his clothes, trying to get to his skin underneath to bite his head off. It was his father’s ring, simple but precious that had been in the family for generations that eventually saved Thorin’s life. For it was the diamond on the ring, that Thorin unintentionally but luckily buried deep into the animal’s eye, as he threw a punch at its face.

The Warg snarled and quickly pulled back, ripping out a great amount of Thorin’s fur collar, as well as something that gleamed silver in the dim light. 

Thorin’s eyes widened in shock when he noticed what it was, that was dangling from the wargs fangs. 

“No!”

It was the Key to Erebor that had hung on a necklace around his neck. Their only chance to get into the mountain.

The Warg, about to attack again, stopped midway when he noticed Thorin’s bewildered expression and only then realized that something of enormous value must have been snatched away from the Dwarf and was now in his possession. His vicious eyes lit up and something that sounded like a dark snicker came from the animal, before he slowly backed down, his gaze still fixed on Thorin.

“No! Don’t you dare!” the Dwarf yelled but it was too late.

With one last glance, the Warg turned around and sprinted off into the brushwood, the Key to Erebor dangling from his fangs. 

Thorin’s scream echoed through the entire forest. He desperately tried to get to his feet but the bite in his leg made him slow and hurt. He stared after the massive animal, eyes wide and terrified. 

His comrades found him like that. Dwalin pulled him up to his feet, worried but at the same time relieved that their leader was still alive.

“The key. It has the key”, Thorin whispered, still not able to grasp what just happened.

“What key?” Dori asked.

“The Key to Erebor?!” Gandalf thundered and for a long time nobody said anything. 

Their one hope to reclaim their homeland was gone, carried off to someplace unknown.

Once Thorin had regained his composure, not holding onto Dwalin anymore because his pride forbade him to show the pain his injured leg caused him, he began to look around. 

“Where are Fíli and Kíli?” he asked, panic beginning to arise within him once more. 

“They didn’t fight with us”, Glóin remarked, pointing into the direction in which the youngsters had disappeared after the Wargs had attacked them. 

“Find them!” Thorin bellowed.

The boys, in the meantime, had their own battle to fight.

Kíli’s cry had startled Fíli but before he had been able to turn around, the black Warg had already reached him, biting down in his back. Kíli watched in horror as his older brother was swept from his feet and shaken violently like a ragdoll. It was not Dwarven flesh though, that the Warg had buried his teeth in. It was Kíli’s quiver that Fíli had been carrying for his brother ever since they had set out from Rivendell. 

As soon as the Warg realised what he was holding onto, he let go and sent Fíli flying. The Dwarven prince landed on his back, the torn quiver sticking into his spine and all air was pressed from his lungs. Before he could even move an inch, the horrible beast was towering over him, holding him down with one massive black paw firmly standing on his chest. He felt the claws digging through his jerkin. 

He saw the dreadful, scarred and bloody face of the beast right before him, his breath reeked of blood and murder and the young dwarf stared in fright for a moment. The massive jaws snapped shut, the fangs clicking dangerously as the Warg brought his head closer and closer to Fíli’s throat. 

It was then, that the boy suddenly grabbed one of the many scattered arrows from the quiver that had fallen out and forcefully drove it into the already bleeding, empty eye socket of the Warg.

The animal howled in pain, jerking his enormous head up. 

Fíli quickly crawled from underneath the animal and got back onto his feet, drawing both his swords. His brother shivered from the shock, clinging onto the rock but unable to move. Every time he tried to get up, his knees immediately buckled and gave in and his head was spinning from the pain that was still shooting throughout his chest and into his limbs. 

For a moment, the Warg tried to shake off the arrow but on realizing that it was stuck deeply, he lapsed into a rage and went straight for Fíli. The blades of his swords crashed down into the black fur again and again but the beast continued to snap at the Dwarf, not caring about pain or danger. 

First, he ripped the blade from Fíli’s right hand and sent it flying. Another swing and he caught the other blade between his enormous fangs as well and began pulling and tearing it violently, shaking the young Dwarf badly, that was clinging onto hilt for dear life.

Kíli watched dumbstruck. His throat felt too dry to scream, not a single sound came from him but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the scenery before him. Fear had possessed every single part of his body but he felt something else creeping on him. It was guilt, that slowly began eating him up alive from the inside. Guilt that he could not help Fíli. Anger that he wasn’t able to move. Fear that he might lose his brother. 

The other blade flew through the air and got stuck in the ground a few feet from Kíli. 

Fíli, already about to reach for the daggers in his boots, was swiftly tackled by the Warg and blown off his feet. Distracted for a moment, he didn’t see the beast preparing the next attack. 

Suddenly, a bolt of pain shot through his side as the enormous animal sunk its teeth deeply through his clothes, right into his flesh. He screamed in agony, a sound that cut deep through his brother’s heart. Again, the Warg began to shake him violently, the teeth buried so deeply in his side, that nothing could have torn the massive jaws apart. 

Already believing this to be the end, Kíli prepared to hurl himself on the battle field despite the pain in a last, most likely vain attempt to save his brother when the Warg suddenly turned around and picked up speed, dashing across the grassland, dragging Fíli along. 

Grass, pebbled and dirt were flying at his face, he couldn’t see clearly and all he heard was the panting of the beast and his own body scraping along the uneven ground. His side began to go numb and it became harder and harder for him to move his arms and shoulders. No matter how many times he struggled, the jaws of the Warg were closed around him like a bench vice.

With one last effort and the remaining strength he had left, he lifted his right arm to his left, drawing one of his throwing knives from his sleeve. Gravel and sharp rocks were cutting into his neck, face and shoulders but Fíli ignored any pain. He struck out, gathered all his strength one last time and rammed the knife deep into the animal’s temple. 

The beast howled in pain, the young Dwarf flying from its jaws, tumbling across the grassland. The Warg still ran for a few feet before he began to stumble and finally crashed down onto the ground, burying Fíli underneath his enormous black body. 

When Thorin and the remaining Dwarves reached the grassland, they found Kíli sitting by the rock, shaking violently. Tears were streaming down his face, yet the youngster was unable to mutter a single word. 

Thorin was by his nephew’s side first, pulling the shaking body close. 

“Shhh, calm down. Calm down”, he tried to hush his nephew but failed miserably. The others began looking around for Fíli but he was nowhere to be found. 

“Come on now”, Thorin’s voice still sounded unusually gentle, even though he already began ordering his nephew around again. “Crying won’t help you. Where is your brother?”

It took Kíli a while until he was able to form words again. By now, the Dwarves as well as Bilbo and Gandalf stood around him, looking down in fear and worry. Especially the little Hobbit was close to tears himself, when he saw the desperation and agony on Kíli’s face. 

“It dragged him away”, Kíli whispered. “It just dragged him away I- I couldn’t help him.”

“It’s not your fault”, Thorin tried to soothe him but fighting his own urge to tremble, as fear of losing his beloved nephew crept over him. 

“I couldn’t move, I- I-“

Kíli buried his face in the fur of Thorin’s coat. 

“We will find him, don’t worry. We’ll find him.” 

The ones who were least injured and still able to run quickly set off first, amongst them Bifur, Dwalin, Ori and Glóin, as well as small Master Baggins, whose hairy feet carried him across the grassland more swiftly than he had ever known. He swallowed his fear, desperate to find the elder of the two brothers of whom, though teasing him constantly, he had grown quite fond. 

Kíli had been pulled to his shaking feet by Thorin and Balin and, leaning onto Óin and Nori, followed the rest of the company as quickly as he could. Thorin tried his best not to limb and give his nephew even more reason to worry. 

“Look thoroughly!” Thorin shouted at his companions and all of them knew how hard he tried not to show his concern and worry.

It was Bilbo who eventually discovered the body of the black Warg in quite a distance. The Hobbit approached slowly, drawing his sword. Carefully, he poked the beast a couple of times before he was sure that the Warg was actually dead. Fíli’s black throwing knife still stuck in its head but no sign was to be seen of the young dwarf. Until Bilbo spotted a hand on the ground that peeked from a hem made of light brown fur, stuck underneath the massive animal. 

“Fíli”, Bilbo whispered. He carefully reached out and touched the cold fingers, before panic struck him and he began to scream.

“HE’S HERE! HERE!”

Alarmed, the other Dwarves came running across the grassland. When they found Fíli lying underneath the dead monster, Bifur, Glóin and Dwalin began pulling on the black fur instantly, needing all their strength to move the massive animal. It took a while until they had managed to pull the beast off Fíli’s body.

Kíli’s knees buckled again and he sank to the ground at the sight of his brother.

Under the enormous weight of the Warg, Fíli had been pressed into the ground. He bled from numerous cuts to his face, neck and hands, his clothes were torn and bloody and he didn’t move anymore, his eyes closed. His jerkin was stained in blood at his side. 

“No”, Thorin muttered, holding onto Balin before his knees could give in as well. 

They stared at the young Dwarf in shock, Bilbo shaking like a leaf. Óin approached the unmoving body of the youngster and kneeled down beside him. He tore off one of his gloves and held his fingers in front of Fíli’s face for a while, before he looked up at Thorin.

“He’s not breathing anymore.”


	9. Chapter 9

“DO SOMETHING!”

Gandalf stared at Kíli, completely bewildered. Never before had anyone yelled at him like that. Never before had he seen such desperation on anyone.

“YOU’RE A WIZARD AREN’T YOU?! DO SOMETHING DAMNIT! SAVE HIM!”

Kíli was still kneeling on the ground, held by Dori who tried to calm the young Dwarf but any attempt was to no avail. Pain was eating the youngster alive and now he vented his anger and despair at someone. Anyone. 

Thorin and Glóin carefully lifted Fíli from the ground and carried him over to a small group of bushes and broom. The elder brother still didn’t move and Thorin swallowed hard as he saw his nephew lying there like this. 

“WHAT KIND OF WIZARD ARE YOU, THAT YOU CAN’T EVEN SAVE ANYBODY!” 

Nobody could have stopped Kíli in his rage at this moment. He was young and blunt and never in his life had he suffered like this. Not even his own injuries seemed to matter right now, all he saw was the motionless body of his brother. 

Maybe it was Kíli’s desperation that made Gandalf try in the end. He kneeled besides Fíli, closely examining the youngster, feeling for a heartbeat, whispering words that none of them understood. It took a while but eventually his face lit up.

“He’s alive”, he muttered. “He’s alive!”

Immediately Kíli stopped, staring at the wizard in disbelief. The world moved in slow motion, he didn’t hear or see anything clearly. Alive. He was alive. They youngster just sat there, staring into nothing as one single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Boil some water! Quickly! Óin, I need you to take care of the boy as well as you can!” Gandalf ordered, getting up from his spot. He put on his hat and grabbed his staff.

“What are you doing?” Thorin demanded, his voice rough and displeased.

“I have an urgent errand to run. Do not worry, Thorin Oakenshield, I will be back before morning. You have my word.” 

They made a fire, boiled water in a pot and bedded Fíli on all the blankets they had. While Óin tended to the bite on Fíli’s side, Kíli sat beside his brother, again chewing on some poppy seeds to blank out his own pain. Bilbo sat close by, once again mesmerized by the mutual love that the brothers shared. 

When the water was boiled, Ori handed Kíli a facecloth and he carefully began to wash the dirt and blood off his brother’s face, his hands still shaking. The wound on his side got cleaned as well and Óin disinfected it with a mixture of herbs, preparing a bandage to quicken the healing process. As soon as he was done, he pulled another blanket over Fíli and began packing up his belongings.

“Will he be alright?” Kíli asked, calmer than before.

“As long as his wound won’t get infected, he’ll be fine I suppose”, the old Dwarf muttered, clasping his hearing aid in one hand. “He’s very brave, your brother.”

“Or stupid”, came a low growl from a darker corner of the camp. Thorin sat a little aside the rest of them. He had taken care of his own wound, not wanting anyone to notice it. 

“A bit of both probably”, Kíli admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “When will he wake up?”

Óin tilted his head gently. “Hard to say. He needs a good rest for his body to recover. I guess all the anxiety got the best of him now. Just let him sleep. He will wake up when he’s ready.”

Kíli nodded, not entirely satisfied with the answer but at least his brother would survive. 

Bilbo still sat a few inches away, his chin resting in the palms of his hands. Never had he encountered something as fascinating as those two Dwarves. He flinched a little, when Kíli suddenly addressed him.

“Thank you.”

“Huh? Me? For what?” he asked puzzled.

“For finding him”, Kíli smiled gently. “If it wasn’t for you, we might have never found him. Or found him too late. You saved his life, you know?”

“Me? Oh no. No no, I didn’t- I”, the Hobbit blushed badly. “I did nothing really.”

Of course it was plain modesty speaking here, for the Hobbit was most thrilled and excited at the thought that he might have saved someone’s life. He had never saved anybody before. 

“We should tell him when he wakes up. I’m sure he’d want to thank you as well.”

“Bah!” Bilbo made a discarding gesture with his hand, causing Kíli to grin a little. He saw right through little Master Baggins but enjoyed his act too much as to call him upon it. 

Sometime during the night, when most of the camp was fast asleep and only Nori and Glóin looked after the fire, Thorin got up from his place offside and made his way to his nephews. Kíli had fallen asleep leaning against one of the many scattered rocks with Fíli’s head on his lap. The cuts and scratches made the blond dwarf look a little rough and much older than he actually was; yet Thorin couldn’t help but smile a little.

Young and stupid. That’s what they were for sure. Naïve as well, carefree and absorbed into a world full of adventure and great deeds. 

Thorin settled next to Kíli, taking off his coat to put it around his nephew’s shoulders. Nothing, not even the missing key, seemed to matter right now while he watched his sleeping family. Years ago he had lost his grandfather in battle. His father and brother shortly after that. Just the thought of losing one more member of his family in war was unbearable for him. 

Unnoticed by Thorin, Glóin and Nori curiously glanced towards the small family gathering, quietly smiling to themselves.

When the next morning came, Fíli still hadn’t opened his eyes. Though Kíli seemed less stressed out than the night before, he secretly wished for Fíli to wake up, to hear his voice again and maybe even see him smile a little. He therefore barely left his brother’s side and needed to be forced to help the others pack up. 

“Just let him rest now”, Óin muttered, getting a little bugged out with the youngster constantly bustling around his brother. “I told you he needs rest, didn’t I?”

“Leave the boy be”, Glóin chuckled, patting his brother on the back. “I don’t think even Kíli’s babbling will wake the lad up.” 

And it didn’t and Kíli babbled a lot. He told his brother how worn out everyone looked, how Thorin tried badly not to limp, earning himself a small smack, then proceeded to tell Fíli how Thorin had just smacked him. It probably was Kíli’s very own way of dealing with his unconscious brother so the others let him, some of them even listening quite amused. 

Around sunrise, Gandalf appeared again and he wasn’t alone. 

“Goodness”, Dwalin muttered under his breath, when he recognized the wizard’s companion. “Not that tramp again.”

It was the shaggy frame of Radagast the Brown that appeared in the thick morning fog by Gandalf’s side. His sledge, pulled by his infamous Rhosgobel rabbits, jolted along the dry grass slowly aside the wizards. Everyone watched curiously, as the two wizards arrived at the camp.

“The boy’s over there”, Gandalf mentioned to Radagast, pointing at Fíli. 

“Ah!” the doddery wizard exclaimed. “Now that’s not exactly a squirrel, is it?!”

“You will still help him, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes, let’s see what we can do. We’ll see”, Radagast muttered, leaving his sledge and the rabbits to hurry over to the wounded boy and his brother, who wasn’t quite sure whether to defend Fíli or not.

“Squirrel?” Thorin asked, looking at Gandalf.

“Well, he cares more for wounded animals than Dwarves, so I had to lie a little”, Gandalf admitted, quietly smirking to himself. “Don’t worry, Radagast is a better healer than I am. If anyone can help your nephew, then it’s him.”

Radagast shooed the completely puzzled Kíli aside and the young Dwarf shot a questioning glance at his uncle, who merely shrugged. Thorin didn’t trust the big folk too much but at least this one wasn’t an Elf. Kíli took a few steps back but still stayed close enough for Radagast to look at him for a while.

“And what’s the matter with you?” he asked, unsure whether he should be annoyed or not.

“I-“, Kíli cleared his throat. “I’m his brother.”

“Ah, I see. Yes yes, family bonds, not uncommon amongst squirrels and other rodents.”

“I’m a Dwarf!” the youngster protested.

“I know! Now shoo for goodness sake, how am I supposed to look at him when you’re so close?!”

Radgast quietly muttered to himself while he examined the bite on Fíli’s side, clearly criticising the messy bandage and the choice of herbs, which upset Óin a little, causing him to huff and scuffle off.

“So? What do you think?” Gandalf asked after a while.

“Yes yes”, Radagast muttered, getting up again. “Nasty bite that is. It must’ve been a pretty big Warg, those are not too common around here.”

“Where did it come from?” Thorin asked.

“Hm? That one? Looks like an Ered Luin Dwarf to me.”

“Not my nephew, the Warg!” Thorin replied a little annoyed. “I know very well where my own kin comes from.”

“Oh, right! Well, a Warg as big as that one is probably from the Kingdom of Angmar up at Mount Gundabad.”

Now all the Dwarves were listening attentively for they had a long history with Mount Gundabad that was deeply embedded in their roots. The only one still immensely puzzled was Kíli, for unlike his brother, he was actually quite bad at remembering facts and names but preferred the overall adventure story. 

Thorin remembered the light brown Warg running up north and a stern expression soon hung on his features. 

“Is there a pack of them at Gundabad?”

“Of course”, Radagast nodded. “The Gundabad Wargs are fierce allies of the Orcs of Angmar. They settled down at the mountain in the late Second Age if I’m not mistaken.”

Gandalf exchanged a glance with the leader of their company, knowing exactly what was going around in his head. If the Warg had fled to Mount Gundabad with the key, they needed to travel there to get it back. 

“It’s a dangerous journey”, Gandalf reminded Thorin quietly. “Too dangerous with two injured youngsters.”

“And a Hobbit!” Bilbo chirped up, who wasn’t too fond of anything dangerous at the moment. 

“Nothing’s too dangerous!” Kíli exclaimed, seemingly offended. “I can face plenty more Wargs if I have to!”

“Only you haven’t faced any yet and you still can’t use your weapons!” Thorin reminded him bluntly, immediately causing his nephew to shut up. 

“We’ll need to split up then”, Gandalf suggested. “The ones that can fight will travel to Mount Gundabad. The ones that can’t will stay with Radagast until they feel better, then they follow us.”

“What? With me?” the tattered wizard asked, looking at Kíli, Bilbo and the still unconscious Fíli. “Oh no Gandalf, no no, by all means, I’m not a designated babysitter.”

“And I’m not a baby!” Kíli hissed but everyone simply ignored him. 

“Oh, don’t worry”, Gandalf smiled. “We could send our infamous mother hen with you, to look after the boys.”

All eyes were suddenly on poor Dori, who would have never believed that his caring nature one day might make him the personal foster mother for two generally bad behaving Dwarf princes. “Oh no. No, I refuse! I will not watch over those two! No offense, but those boys only behave when one of them is unconscious. No!”

The company remained silent for a moment, contemplating what to do, for it was clear to them and especially Thorin, that they would need someone who could guide them back to the rest of the company. Someone who knew how to read maps and was used to travelling at least a little.

“I could go with them”, they suddenly heard a quiet, timid voice from the back. It was young Ori who had chirped up, clasping his leather-bound book in his arms. 

“You?!” Kíli laughed.

“Well, why not? I- I know the area… a little. B-better than you!”

The Dwarves muttered and whispered all over the place and Thorin didn’t seem quite content yet. Sending someone so young and just as inexperienced with his nephews didn’t sound like a good idea. It was Balin who spoke up again, calm and reserved as usual. Good old Balin, doing all the thinking for the bunch once more.

“The lad is right though, Thorin. His family are wanderin’ merchants right? He’s been up at the Iron Hills. Send the youngsters together; see how far they can get. Put yer eldest in charge when he’s well, it’s a lesson to be learned.”

Thorin pondered over the idea a little more, ignoring Kíli’s claims of how he would be an excellent leader as well, before he nodded to himself.

“It’s decided then!” Thorin declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't really think I'd kill one of my favourite characters ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I can't tell if I will kill anyone by the end of the story. That would be too much of a spoiler ;)  
> But we still got a long way to go until then anyways and I hope you'll enjoy the following Chapter as well!

Sunshine tickled his nose. He shifted a little, trying to go back to sleep for a while before he eventually opened his eyes and blinked a few times.   
He lay in a big bed with a wooden frame and the softest down-filled cushions and a colourful quilt. Above him, massive wooden beams held up the ceiling and bits and pieces of the thatched roof glimmered through various small holes. Everything smelled of forest and wet moss and birds chirped by the wide-open windows with green folding shutters. 

When he sat up, a short bolt of pain shot through his side and looking down at his body, he noticed that his chest and side were thoroughly bandaged. Wondering where he was and how he got here, he swung his legs off the bed, a little surprised that his feet didn’t even touch the ground. Obviously it was the home of a big person.

Just as he was about to jump off the bed, he heard voices from outside and stopped mid-way.

“Oh no. No no no, not again. What are you doing?!”

“I’m truly sorry but nobody can really live like that.”

Fíli raised his eyebrows when he recognised Ori’s voice. If he was here, where were the rest of them?

“Didn’t I tell you to stop him if he tried it again? I told you!”

“Sorry, I guess I’m still way too physically impaired to stop him”, sounded a very familiar and very amused voice. Fíli immediately broke into the brightest smile imaginable. He was here! His brother was here too!

Ignoring the pain, Fíli hopped off the bed and made his way to the door, slowly since his circulation wasn’t quite with him yet, but setting one bare foot before the next, he eventually got there. When he opened the front door though, a sight unfolded before him, that he had not anticipated.

Ori stood in the middle of a glade in front of the house, hanging up sheets, towels and clothes on a washing line, amongst them Fíli’s own shirt, jerkin and vest. Bustling around him was Radagast, who seemed utterly unhappy with the cleaning of his belongings. Kíli sat on a wooden table next to the house, young Master Bilbo next to him on a bench, happily watching the scene before them. 

“Oh no no no”, Radagast muttered. “Is there anything you didn’t wash?”

“I washed everything that needed to be washed. So basically- everything”, Ori replied clearly uncomfortable. Being that rude and intriguing wasn’t in his nature usually but after seeing the state of Rhosgobel, the beloved home of Radagast, he had quickly convinced himself that nobody would heal quickly in this place.

The chit chattering between the two of them went on for a little while before Radagast noticed Fíli standing by the door, quietly and confused as to what was going on. 

“AH!” he exclaimed, making everyone jump. “The patient is awake!”

Only a second later, Fíli found himself tackled to the ground by his younger brother, both groaning various forms of “ouch” and “oh dear” and “in Durin’s name” and “did you HAVE to do that”, since Kíli, as it was typical for him, had of course forgotten about any injury at the sight of his brother. 

“You’re awake!” the younger burst out, gleaming with joy as he was happily sitting on his brothers stomach. 

“Kíli- Kíli, my side”, came a raspy answer and Kíli quickly got up from his brother and carefully pulled him back on his feet. 

“Sorry”, he muttered. “I didn’t mean to- I- I’m just- you’re awake!” And he flung his arms around Fíli’s neck, a little more careful this time and his brother returned the loving gesture. Bilbo smiled gleefully, as did Ori who noticed too late that Radagast had begun to snatch various pieces of pretty antique looking underwear from the washing line. 

They sat Fíli down on the bench and the wizard prepared a warm mixture of herbs, honey and mead for his patient, as well as a rustic meal that reminded the young Dwarves a little of home but was entirely unfamiliar to the Hobbit. Stew, salted pork, smoked ham, mature cheese and dark bread stood on the table and though he was eating carefully, Fíli was well hungry and dug in happily. 

“How long was I out?” he asked, trying to remember the few table manners he had, since Radagast did not seem to approve of the usual Dwarven way of having a meal and neither did Bilbo, who vividly remembered his destroyed kitchen in Bag End.

“Three days nearly”, Kíli replied with his mouth full, caring much less than his brother, while Ori attempted to behave as well. “I thought you were never gonna wake up again! But I wasn’t allowed to try waking you.”

“And he woke up all by himself, just as I told you, now didn’t he?” Radagast muttered a little displeased, a pipe in his hand. Kíli, still injured himself, had surely been a handful in those last three days, constantly by his brother’s side and so badly worried, that he wouldn’t shut up. 

They told Fíli everything that had happened since he had killed the beast and also explained the split up of the group. Not only did he learn about the missing key, and he surely wasn’t happy about that, Ori also solemnly explained to Fíli, that he had been given the responsibility for bringing them back safely to the company.

“I have to get you up North?” food and drink were forgotten and the eldest brother suddenly grew a little pale. 

“Now now, don’t faint again”, Radagast quickly filled his cup up.

“Come on, that’s gonna be a piece of cake”, Kíli smiled. “And you’re not alone! You got us!”

Fíli glanced from one to the next. His brother, a very skilled fighter but hot headed and injured. Ori, who couldn’t fight at all but at least knew the area from previous travelling. And Bilbo, who was neither a fighter nor a real burglar but somehow had managed to remain unharmed so far. 

“Well”, he smiled warily. “It’ll do, right?”

“You won’t be setting off before you both are fully healed though!”

Kíli rolled his eyes at the wizard and had a piece of cheese chucked at him in return. 

“I made a promise to your father and-“

“He’s our uncle.”

“Whatever. I will not let you leave until you’re up and ready. The further you journey on North, the more Orcs and Wargs you will encounter. Mount Gundabad is their realm not yours.”

“It was ours once”, Fíli replied but quickly had to admit that the last time Dwarves had set foot into Mount Gundabad and survived had been in the last Age. They had to swear to Radagast to not sneak out on him and stay at Rhosgobel until both of them were remarkably better. While Fíli and Ori were well aware of the little time they had to reclaim Erebor, Kíli worried most about boredom. The only one seemingly content was Bilbo, who enjoyed the meal and a smoke and looked generally happy about not having to fight anything for a while.

Later that night, after Ori, the Hobbit and the wizard had already gone to sleep, the two brothers were still sitting outside Radagast’s house. Some torches lit up the glade, crickets were chirping in the night and fireflies danced through the darkness of the forest surrounding them. 

Fíli sat on the bench, his back towards his brother who sat on the table behind him, cups of wine beside them. With a low clicking sound, one of the golden clips closed around a strand of Fíli’s blond, freshly braided hair. Content with his work, Kíli leaned back and took a sip of wine.

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“What is?”

“The quietness. It’s like there’s nothing dangerous here at all.”

Fíli just muttered a quiet “Mh-hm”, chewing on one of the poppy seeds the Elves had given to Kíli. They really did help against the pain but tasted awful and Fíli was quick to swallow them with a neat mouthful of wine. 

“I’m not really sure about the whole ‘living in the wild’ bit though, you know. With all those critters and rodents and there’s just trees everywhere and we’re not even allowed to touch anything because apparently that stuff can feel too, but it’s quiet. Did you hear him say they could feel? The trees? Do you think rocks can feel? I don’t think they can, I mean, they’re rocks, right? Anyways staying here for too long would do my head in. Seriously. Yours too right? I wouldn’t want to live in the woods like that, I-“

When Kíli suddenly grew very quiet, Fíli blinked irritated. After all the chattiness that his brother had made them endure during the day, the sudden silence seemed somewhat odd. 

“You alright?” he asked, wanting to look back over his shoulder but was stopped in his movement, when his brother suddenly wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his neck. 

“Kíli?” he sounded a little startled. “What’s the matter?”

No sound came from his brother, no reply at all but the quiet shaking of the body in his back said enough. More than words ever could. Kíli’s arms around his neck were trembling as the youngster silently cried. Never before had Fíli seen his brother like that, unsure what to do.

“Don’t ever do that to me again”, Kíli finally croaked, his voice drenched with fear and relief at the same time. “Ever. You understand?”

All the pain, all the frustration, all the anxiety and guilt that Kíli had kept to himself in the last couple of days finally leaked out. He had been strong and brave. So incredibly brave. For himself, for everybody else, for Thorin especially to whom he didn’t want to look weak. He had promised himself that the fear of losing his brother wouldn’t take the best of him, that it wouldn’t affect him. And he had kept that promise right until now.

But sitting here now, with the one person he loved most, he didn’t need to be brave and strong anymore. He had his brother back and his brother would protect him again. His brother wouldn’t judge. With his brother, he could just be himself. 

And Fíli didn’t judge. He didn’t say anything as he lifted his hands and gently clasped Kíli’s trembling fingers. 

“How about-”, Fíli began quietly, a smile tugging at his lips. “How about we promise each other that we both won’t ever do that again?”

For while, the silent sobbing in his neck continued before Fíli noticed that it had slowly turned into a chuckle. Still a little choked but he could feel how Kíli’s grip around himself relaxed a little. 

“Yeah”, the younger snuffled as he sat up again, finally allowing Fíli to turn around and face him. He looked a little flushed and incredibly young and Fíli gave his brother a reassuring smile. “Yeah, we should do that. And do it properly!” 

It didn’t even take a second before a mischievous glint showed in the eyes of the brothers, as it usually did when they were up to no good. It had been like that years ago in the Blue Mountains when they were still children and not much had changed ever since. 

They didn’t even need to talk about it, as Kíli quickly drew one of his daggers and didn’t hesitate for long before he cut himself in the palm of his right hand, then handing it over to Fíli who did the same. It was surprisingly easy and barely painful at all, though both boys forgot that they were high on poppy seeds and would most likely regret this tomorrow.

“Swear!” Kíli exclaimed, quickly wiping the tears off his cheeks as he held his hand out. 

“I swear”, Fíli declared, as did Kíli and they shook their bleeding hands on it. It was in this moment, that Radagast emerged from the house and let out a scream that sent the birds in the surrounding trees flying.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE VALAR ARE YOU TWO DOING?!”

Ori and Bilbo were woken by Radagasts panic-fuelled voice scolding and ranting, cursing the Dwarven stupidity, calling Fíli and Kíli the ‘greatest blockheads he had ever encountered and that said something since he was talking to trees most of the time’ while he scurried around to look for herbs and more bandages. 

The brothers on the other hand just laughed it off and all the joy and relief of the world lay in that laughter. Because once they promised something, they kept it. Especially when it was a promise that only concerned the two of them.


	11. Chapter 11

Around sunrise on the fourth day, Thorin and company arrived at the Northern peak of the Wilderland. Being wary of the Misty Mountains and the Goblins and Orcs still populating the caves and caverns, they had travelled close to the banks of the Anduin, resting by the river at night. They only halted when they had to and travelled at a fast pace, for time was gnawing at them and they only had a few weeks left until Durin’s Day. The only day on which, according to the moon runes on Thorin’s map, the invisible Dwarven door would become visible in the moonlight. 

Just as they climbed up a small hill, the morning sun peeked over the mountaintops and illuminated the land before them. 

Below lay the ruins of a city. Broken stonewalls were scattered across the grass, only a few buildings still standing intact for they had been raided by Orcs and Wargs for nearly a hundred years now. In the distance beyond, Mount Gundabad rose into the sky, its snow-capped top glistening in the morning sun. 

Thorin breathed deeply. 

Though he would never admit it, he wasn’t prepared for this quest. Worry about his nephews was eating him alive and the wound on his leg was throbbing badly, though it did not seem infected and it hadn’t slowed him down too much. 

The others already began to unpack, preparing a simple breakfast and shaking the darkness of the night off, when Gandalf approached Thorin, who still stood looking at their goal glistening in the distance. 

“Are you sure you want to go there?” the wizard asked quietly, for he had seen the concern on Thorin’s face.

“No”, the King of Thorin’s Halls admitted. “But I have no other choice. Without the key, the quest is lost and we might as well return to the homes we came from.”

“Even those of you, who don’t have a home?”

Gandalf winked at the Dwarf, causing a tiny smile to tuck at Thorin’s lips. The leader of their company was very well aware that not all of them had ventured on to this quest for the same reasons. For Balin and Dwalin it was loyalty to Thorin and Durin that had driven them on this path. Same could be said for Glóin and Óin who had never seen Erebor but were born in exile and yearned for their homeland as much as Thorin did. As for Dori and Nori, and even more so for Bofur, Bifur and Bombur, the main drive for this adventure had been treasure and fame, since none of them were directly of Durin’s kin and felt no need to protect a kingdom that wasn’t their own.   
But here they were, happily bristling about, not complaining once and Thorin couldn’t have been more grateful, though he never admitted to it.

“Gandalf?”

The wizard raised his eyebrows.

“Those ruins down there. What is that?”

“That? Oh, those are the ruins of Framsburg, the former capital of the Éothéod.”

“Men?” Thorin asked surprised. “There were men this far up north?”

“Yes, for a while”, the wizard replied. “They only recently left for the south and formed the kingdom of Rohan.” 

‘Recently’, in the language of a wizard who had seen Middle Earth since the beginning of time, meant about a hundred years ago, but Thorin didn’t bother with trifles like that. Curiosity grew within him, the longer he looked at the abandoned city below them. 

“Is it safe?”

“Safe? Well, I don’t know. There’s probably nothing left for Orcs or Wargs to take but it is very much in the open and very close to the mountain. You might want to reconsider camping here.”

“Hm”, Thorin mumbled, once again leaving the wizard without any useful answer. Maybe he wanted to be seen after all. Not by the Orcs and Wargs in the mountains, but by someone else entirely.

For he eagerly awaited the arrival of his nephews, hopefully well and sound again and even more so, successfully led by Fíli in whom he laid all his hope. This small journey, though it wasn’t too long or dangerous, was the first real challenge to Thorin’s heir and he was curious as to how his nephew would manage. 

So far, his nephew managed quite well down South. Well enough to entirely ignore any advise from poor Radagast and be the nuisance he could become, whenever he was around his brother and nobody was there to scold them properly.

Whilst Ori was busy with properly cleaning out Radagast’s cupboards and washing all the dishes thoroughly, not really delighted by the sight of numerous chipped plates and bowls, the brothers were set on an entirely different quest, that Radagast did not like at all. 

“Alright now Master Baggins. Ready?”

Bilbo stood in the middle of the glade; Sting in both hands and felt genuinely stupid. He had been hoping for something like a holiday, a couple of days off and no fighting or fearing and yet here he stood, clasping the hilt of his ‘letter opener’ as Balin had said, not knowing what on earth he was supposed to do.

Opposite him stood Fíli, remarkably cheerful considering how grave his injuries were, not only bandaged around his middle but also around his hand now, which didn’t seem to bother him much however. Being extraordinarily skilled at double-handed combat, he held one of his swords in his left hand instead of the usual right. 

“No”, Bilbo muttered. “No, no I don’t think I am, nor will I ever be.” 

“Oh come on now! Don’t be shy!” Kíli supportively shouted from the bench, where he sat and spent half the morning sulking, since his slowly healing arm still forbade him to do any kind of fighting. Radagast’s treatment of their wounds however, as well as the herbs and ointments he used, worked wonders and the boys barely needed the Elvish poppy seeds anymore. 

“Shy? I-I’m not shy I just have no intention of hurting myself!” Bilbo explained, his sword still directed at Fíli though he seemed entirely displeased.

“No worries, brave burglar, you won’t hurt yourself. I will hurt you at most!” Fíli didn’t even try to cheer Bilbo up and the Hobbit whimpered quietly at the thought. 

“Ready now?”

Bilbo steadied himself, his feet firmly dug into the ground, yet when Fíli charged for him, he screamed and ran for the table to hide behind poor Ori and his washbowl. 

“Oh come on now!” Kíli burst out. “It’s not like he’s going to kill you. You need some training if you want to survive this journey.” 

“I’ve survived well enough without any training, thank you very much!” the Hobbit blustered from behind Ori, who couldn’t blame Bilbo. He wasn’t too keen on fighting Fíli either, for he had done so in the past and always gotten a good beating out of it. 

“Maybe he really doesn’t need training after all”, he therefore stood up for the little Hobbit, braver than his sanity would have ever recommended. “He’s smart, he might get away with a lot of things.” 

“He won’t get away from an Orc that has decided to behead him”, Fíli replied, though he had to chuckle a little at brave Ori defending the Halfling. Little did Fíli know about a certain, small object that Bilbo kept in his pocket ever since he found it down in the caverns of the Misty Moutains and Bilbo had no intention of showing it to anybody. Not even those boys, though he had really begun to grow fond of them. 

“Oi, we should do a little training exercise with Ori too, don’t you think?” Kíli asked, actually intending to lure poor Ori into a trap as they had done ever since they met him for the first time. He was thus surprised, when the chronicler of their company didn’t protest like he had done in the past.

“I could learn how to use a sword!” he exclaimed, probably trying to impress the brothers, though the only one properly impressed was Bilbo, who shared none of those nonsense wishes and desires. 

“It would be better than a slingshot”, Fíli admitted, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, Kíli, get up off your bottom!” 

“What, me?”

“Yes, you. Do you expect me to train the both of them? Your right arm is just fine, go on.” 

The sight before Radagast, as he returned from a stroll through the woods to soothe his nerves, was most peculiar and probably reason enough for him to turn on his heel and go for another walk. 

Ori had been given one of Fíli’s swords and was facing Kíli, who seemed way too cheerful about all this, sword in hand. Poor Bilbo again stood facing Fíli, who secretly seemed to enjoy his role as training instructor, probably seeing himself like a smaller, less hairy version of Dwalin, who had trained the boys often back in the Blue Mountains. 

Radagast sighed but didn’t interfere. Instead, he sat himself down on the bench, lit a pipe and watched carefully, quite curious as to what those rascals were up to again. 

Again Fíli charged first, taking about three quick steps towards the Hobbit and then suddenly everything happened so quickly that Kíli and Ori forgot all about their training. 

Bilbo squealed, first smacking Fíli’s bandaged right hand with the flat blade of his sword, already causing the Dwarf to hiss, then proceeding to smack the wound on Fíli’s side in reflex as well, before he dropped his sword and escaped to the table. 

Fíli found himself unable to follow, muttering low ‘ahahaha ow’s and ‘ouch’, holding his side and wagging his cut hand.

“That was most unfair, Master Baggins!” he protested, pulling a face from the throbbing in his side and hand. “But very effective. Very effective indeed… ow…”

Seeking a little help from Radagast, he looked at the wizard who, with ostentation, simply stuffed another pipe and didn’t give a care in the world.

“Don’t look at me. That’s what you get for not listening to me.”

Kíli and Ori stared at Fíli first, then at Bilbo who seemed utterly astonished that he had actually beaten Fíli, and then burst out in laughter, howling and grunting. 

“You owe me a drink for that”, Fíli insisted between gritted teeth, though he was smiling wearily already again. 

When nightfall came, Thorin and the remaining Dwarves had moved camp down into the ruins of Framsburg. They found shelter in one of the few houses that still had a roof, probably a barn or stable once and set up a campfire. Most of them were happily chatting amongst each other, joking and laughing. Only Dori sat aside by the door, looking out. He hadn’t spoken a word to Thorin ever since they had left the youngsters in the care of Radagast and seemed generally grumpy and displeased. 

“So, when de yer think the lads will join us?” Dwalin asked, sitting next to Thorin by the fire, a large mug with mead in his tattooed hands. 

“A few days I suppose. Trusting the healing skills of that wizard, as Gandalf suggested”, Thorin replied, eyeing the grey wizard who just smiled happily. 

“If they come at all”, Dori muttered under his breath, not actually attending to draw any attention but he did nonetheless. 

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, already sounding a little miffed. 

“They are boys for Durin’s sake!” it suddenly burst from the younger Dwarf and now everyone was listening. “They are boys and you left them out there on their own! Abandoned your injured nephews and also involved my poor brother in this!” 

It was most unusual for the usually chipper and well-mannered Dori to flip like that and only Nori understood his brother to a certain extent. 

“I didn’t abandon-“, Thorin couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

“Do with your family as you like, Thorin Oakenshield, but if anything should happen to my brother, you can only hope that Durin is with you!” 

“It had to be done-“

“Done your selfish ways! Yes! As usual!” Dori had risen from his spot by the door, actually about to face the king of Thorin’s Hall like Thorin had never been faced by his own kin before. And it wasn’t only Dori who was getting riled up. The most hot headed members of the company, Dwalin and Bifur were close to grabbing their axes, Thorin’s hand at Orcrists hilt already, when a noise from outside the abandoned city suddenly cut through the quiet night. 

It was a howling in the far distance. Only one at first, then swiftly followed by more until the air was filled with it, clanging painfully in the Dwarves’ ears. 

Thorin got up from his spot and stepped to the door looking out, followed closely by Dwalin and Bofur. 

Across the fields and beyond Framsburg, Mount Gundabad suddenly seemed to burn in the night. Torches were lit, fires blazing on the slopes of the mountain and the unmistakable laughter and roaring of Orcs bellowed through the darkness. For the night was their cloak and Gundabad was their realm. They came creeping out at nightfall, seizing the flanks of the mountain, feasting and fighting amongst each other. Hundreds, if not thousands of them were crawling on the slopes; some daring to step down onto the fields and amongst them were the mighty Gundabad Wargs, the most fierce and dangerous of their kind. 

Thorin’s eyes grew wide when he saw the fires lighting up, shining bright in the darkness. The last time he had been that far North of the Wilderland was during their wandering days across the lands until they found a new home in the Ered Luin. Back in those days, the Orcs had still resided deep in the Misty Mountains. Little did he know, that they had established a new home in Mount Gundabad.

“No way that we can stand a chance against that”, Dwalin muttered, voicing what everyone was thinking. “There’s too many of’em.” 

“What are we gonna do now Thorin?” Nori asked.

For a while, Thorin didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the flaming mountain, the screeching and howling echoing in his ears. Thirteen of them against thousands of Orcs was pointless and nothing but suicide. His gaze suddenly wandered off to the far Northeast.

“There is one who could help.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little break here. The semester has started again and I've been busy with lectures ;)

Amazement was drawn on Nori’s features, while Bofur’s eyes gleamed with curiosity and Bombur looked utterly spooked. The three Dwarves sat by a low burning fire, watching Mount Gundabad in the far distance after the sun had set only a few hours ago. They were listening to a conversation between Thorin and Gandalf, who stood next to the most beautiful horse that either Dwarf had ever seen. It was a white stallion, still very young and gleaming silver in the moonlight. Though neither of them had ever ridden on a real horse, they recognised one of royal lineage and knew, that this was no ordinary horse. 

It was, in fact, Shadowfax, a young steed and descendant of the legendary Felaróf, belonging to the line of Mearas, that roamed the vast grasslands of Rohan, only to be ridden by Kings and Princes of Men. 

An unusual friendship however had been formed between Shadowfax and Gandalf, not too long ago, thus the wizard was the only one not of royal blood, to be allowed to ride a Mearas. 

Thorin did not seem to care about the horse at all, eyeing it suspiciously. As usual, he wasn’t fond of anything he had to look up to. 

“And you can get there within a day?” he asked, still not convinced that this horse was as mesmerizing and fast as Gandalf had described it. 

“I can not but Shadowfax can and he will. He agreed to bring me there.”

“That’s-“, Thorin struggled a little to find the right words, feeling incredibly stupid to be talking about a horse like that. “-very generous of him.” 

“He knows you’re doubting him”, Gandalf remarked.

“It’s a bloody horse in Durin’s name, what do you expect me to do?” Thorin muttered. 

Dwarves had never been interested in horses or any type of mount in that respect, since they had never much needed them. Horses could not be held in mines and mountains and no Dwarf travelled too far usually. 

Gandalf smirked quietly, before he swiftly mounted Shadowfax, staff in hand. 

“I still doubt that he will come”, the wizard noted, earning himself a low grunt from the King of Thorin’s Halls.

“Explain the situation to him. Explain it thoroughly.”

“He already declined your call for aid once, I don’t see why he should change his mind.”

“Because this is no dragon he needs to face now”, Thorin answered, folding his arms across his chest. “He hates Orcs as much as I do. There is no need for him to ignore my call for help this time.”

“Well”, the wizard turned the horse to a northeastern direction. “Let us hope you are right.”

“We’ll travel towards the old fort in the Grey Mountains. Tell him to meet us there.” 

“I shall”, the horse reared and dashed off into the night. 

“What on earth was that?” Bofur asked, as Thorin strode past them, back to the ruins in which they camped.

“Just a horse”, Thorin replied grimly. 

On the following morning, the three Dwarves and Bilbo packed their belongings. They had spent five days at Rhosgobel, curing their wounds, practising their skills and even teaching the Hobbit and Ori a few fighting techniques. Fíli’s bite had healed nicely and though the wound was still visible and would leave a nasty big scar on his body, Radagast was content to let him travel back to his kin. Kíli’s dislocated arm was mended and he could even fire arrows again and fight properly. His ribs remained a little sensitive though and Radagast had shown him how to apply a bandage to support it. 

The wizard and Bilbo curiously watched as the brothers once again tugged all the weapons they carried neatly into various parts of their clothes, effectively turning themselves into walking and talking armouries. Fíli and his throwing knives and axes, the two swords and the massive battle hammer on his back, Kíli with bow and arrows, his sword on his side and various daggers. And then there was Ori next to them, trying to look as fierce as they did, when he tugged his slingshot in his belt. 

“You look about ready”, the wizard remarked, shaking his head a little. Even though the boys had driven him around the bend in the last few days, he had started to like them a little and felt a bit weary to let them go. 

Bilbo had been the most pleasant guest, never complaining. Whilst Ori had been cleaning one side of the house, Radagast had tried to mess up the other side again, brushing dust and dirt back inside the house every now and then, only to find the place spotless again when he returned at night. Kíli and Fíli however had proven to be proper pests, not only trying to hunt Radagast’s beloved furry friends for dinner and building mouse traps everywhere but also trampling through the forest like a herd of moose, not caring about flora and fauna at all. Yet Radagast had grown fond of them. Their good humour, the Dwarven sturdiness and never-ending enthusiasm impressed the wizard and he got a little teary-eyed when they stood on the glade to say their goodbyes.

It was Fíli who addressed the wizard, speaking as the leader of their little company and now, back in full armour and with only a few scratches remaining on his face, the young Dwarf looked like the royal heir he was. 

“Thank you, Radagast. We wouldn’t have come very far without you in these last days and we will be eternally grateful for everything you’ve done.”

“Bah”, the wizard waved his hand, trying hard not to cry.

“The house of Durin is in your debt and should you ever need help, call upon us and we will answer.”

Kíli’s chest rose with pride, not only because of the remarkable words of his brother, but also because of the mention of his line of blood. Radagast prattled something incomprehensible in his beard. 

“Since we have nothing of value on us to repay you with, we made these for you to think of us.” 

Now Radagast couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, for all four of them suddenly produced a little stone figurine each. The ones that the dwarves held were small squirrels, carved beautifully and in great detail. Bilbo held a small stony dormouse. Every toe on every paw, every whisker and every little ear had been sculptured with so much love and skill that the wizard stood speechless for a while. For even though Fíli and Kíli were of noble descent and Ori was a mere chronicler, they were all Dwarves and knew how to work with stones and diamonds. 

They handed them to the wizard, who couldn’t even form proper words. Considering how badly the brothers had behaved in the past days and how many times Radagast had been close to cursing and bewitching them, he hadn’t expected anything like this. 

“Please keep us in good memory, even though we might have been a little… difficult at times”, Fíli smiled apologetic and was thus utterly surprised, when the wizard suddenly pulled him close for a hug. It felt a little awkward, for Fíli had never been hugged by a big person before and needed to stand on tiptoe but he gladly returned the kind gesture, as did his brother, Ori and Bilbo when Radagast turned to them. 

When they finally set off, they looked back at Rhosgobel many times, waving and smiling. Ori sniffed a little and was comforted by Bilbo. 

They marched with a quick pace for a while, enjoying the cool morning air and the shelter of the forest. Neither of them seemed worried about Wargs or Orcs, they travelled high spirited and eager to get back to the company. Around late noon, they camped at the Old Ford on the banks of the Anduin and Bilbo, even though he had only learned it from books himself, tried to teach the dwarves how to fish. 

They sat in line, each of them on a different rock and held their self-made fishing rods into the flowing waters of the Anduin. It didn’t even take fifteen minutes, until Kíli became utterly bored. He began poking his brother and poor Bilbo with the rod and skipped rocks, occasionally complaining that this was a waste of time and they should move on. 

Ori, who was sitting closest to Fíli managed to dodge Kíli’s fishing rod successfully and concentrated well on his task, though he didn’t really know what he was doing. It wasn’t until something tugged at his cord, that he moved again. 

“Lads! Lads I think- I think I caught something!”

“No way!” Kíli burst out and even Fíli craned his neck. 

“Good! Very good!” the Hobbit beamed. “Now carefully pull it out of the water!”

Ori tried, very carefully at first but nothing happened. 

“A little more strength! Come on!” Kíli exclaimed.

The chronicler pulled harder, then harder once more and all of a sudden a large trout leaped from the water, glistening silver in the slowly setting sunlight. The Dwarves stared in awe, Ori being so mesmerized that he didn’t watch where the fish was going. Only a mere second later did they hear a loud swash and Kíli and Bilbo both burst out laughing, trying to pull poor Fíli out of the water again. Ori stood on his rock, blushing madly with the fish dangling from the cord. 

This is the story of how Ori caught the first and only fish in his life and how Fíli, Durin’s glorious heir, took an involuntary bath in the river Anduin, after being smacked with said fish.

By nightfall they had made a small fire, Fíli’s coat and jerkin hanging from a low branch to dry and he sat close by the flames with a blanket over his shoulders, warming his naked toes. The fish was roasting above the fire and the three Dwarves and the Hobbit were chipper and chatty as usual. 

“So, what’s the route from here?” Kíli asked, looking at Ori who still had to get used to being this important all of a sudden.

“Just up the river really”, he replied quietly. “Getting to the mountain is not hard. It will be difficult to find them though, once we’re there.”

“Thorin will surely leave some marks for us to find them”, Fíli remarked, poking the fish to check if it was ready. 

The scent of the roasting fish wafted through the cool night air; making their mouths water and they all grew a little impatient, sitting there with a growling stomach. It was Bilbo who first heard the low rustling in the brushwood. He quickly looked around but couldn’t see anything. 

“D-Did you hear that?” he chirped up.

“Oh please”, Kíli muttered. “No more Wargs.” 

The rustling grew louder and the dwarves looked at each other, completely startled. 

“Quick, grab your stuff and get behind that rock there. If it’s more Wargs, we might be completely outnumbered!” Fíli ordered and they quickly gathered their belongings and disappeared behind a massive rock by the banks of the Anduin. They carefully peered around to watch the campfire.

Nothing happened for a while, before a massive shadow suddenly emerged from the brushwood. It wasn’t the shape of a Warg but bigger and bulkier and it moved slowly. 

“What is it?” Bilbo whispered.

“That’s a bear”, Kíli replied surprised. “And a massive one!”

The bear sniffed the air, clearly drawn to the camp due to the overwhelming scent of the roasting fish. He didn’t mind the fire much, as he destroyed the little wooden rack with one swift movement of his huge paw, sending the fish flying. 

“Oh no!” Kíli exclaimed.

“Stay low!” Fíli growled at his brother but was completely ignored. 

“No way! It’s trying to steal our supper!”

And with that, the youngest quickly climbed the rock, quietly and unnoticed by the bear that had turned to the fish already. 

Only a split second later, a deafening roar echoed through the woods and the massive animal furiously spun around, an arrow sticking in its backside. Kíli stood on the rock, bow and arrow ready again. 

“Oi! Paws off our food!”

“Oh great”, Fíli muttered quietly. “Now it’s angry.”

And angry it was. The bear roared once more and rolled right towards the rock on which the young Dwarf stood, still facing the beast bravely. Kíli did not move an inch even though the animal was about three times his size and obviously in a very bad mood. His brother wasn’t sure whether it was bravery or stupidity that kept Kíli in place, but he knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance against that monster on his own. 

Fíli appeared besides his brother, both swords drawn and it took a short while until even Ori gathered the courage to climb up the rock and fumble for his slingshot. 

At the sight of three armed Dwarves, the bear suddenly stopped midway though, causing the youngsters to blink puzzled. No ferocious animal had ever halted at the sight of weapons before. 

They were completely astonished, when the animal slowly began to back away, still keeping an eye on them but not in the slightest keen on attacking them anymore.

“What is going on?” Fíli asked but nobody could answer him.

The bear then suddenly turned around, picked up the fish and rushed off into the woods. The Dwarves just stood there for a while, quickly accompanied by Bilbo who didn’t understand anything anymore and watched the bear disappear in the darkness of the night. 

“Did that bear just back off because of our weapons?” Fíli asked again, only to receive a shrug from Ori and a low “Glad he did” from Bilbo. 

The three of them listened up, when Kíli jumped off the rock and began to pick up his belongings, shouldering his quiver and putting his coat on.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked.

“Going after him!” Kíli explained.

“Oh no. No no no, you stay here. Be glad that beast is gone!” Fíli ordered but his brother didn’t listen.

“That beast has our supper!” the youngest explained and off he went, following the bear into the thick brushwood. Ori and Bilbo looked at each other, quickly gathered their belongings and rushed after Kíli, leaving Fíli with his mouth open for a while, before he rolled his eyes.

“Brilliant”, he muttered as he quickly put his shoes back on, grabbed his coat and jerkin and followed the rest of the small company into the pitch-black woods.


	13. Chapter 13

“Kíli, this is getting stupid.” 

The sun was rising above the treetops, the forest slowly coming to life again. The three Dwarves and the Hobbit had been travelling through the night, keen on finding the tracks of the bear again but to no avail. Fíli and Kíli were skilled hunters but had never been forced to just aimlessly follow one single track, while Ori and Bilbo both turned out to be pretty much blind in the darkness. 

“It’s gone”, Fíli breathed, slumping down on a tree trunk. “By now the bear will have eaten our supper anyways.”

“And it wouldn’t be supper anymore, but breakfast already”, the Hobbit added, sitting himself down next to the blond Dwarf, obviously knackered. 

Kíli on the other hand didn’t seem to even consider giving up just yet. He kept on searching the ground for paw traces, Ori following him around like a puppy.

“He can’t be that far away”, the youngest muttered. “He must have his lair around here somewhere.”

“We probably went in circles and the bear is long gone. Just knock it off already”, Fíli sighed, leaning back a little to look up at the sun. Kíli disappeared in the bushes, Ori on his heels and Bilbo looked at the older brother.

“Shouldn’t we… you know, follow them?”

“They’ll be back in a bit, just wait for it”, Fíli closed his eyes, enjoying the rays of sunlight on his face. Bilbo waited for a while, before he shrugged and mimicked the Dwarf. 

“LADS!” it suddenly bellowed from the bushes and Bilbo nearly toppled off the trunk in surprise. “COME OVER HERE!” 

Groaning, Fíli got up from his spot, followed by Bilbo, who wasn’t sure what to expect. They found Kíli and Ori at the edge of meadow, both curiously peeking from a row of pine trees.

“What is it?” Fíli asked but was quickly shushed by his brother. 

Before them lay a long, thorny hedge that surely had not grown like that by nature. Kíli signalled them to follow and the four of them wandered along the hedge until they reached a very broad, dark wooden gate. 

“Looks like someone’s living here”, Bilbo stated the obvious as they spotted a low wooden house in the centre of a yard. Kíli suddenly yelled, pointing at some huge bear tracks in the muddy ground before the gate. 

“It went in there!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would a bear go somewhere that close to men?” Fíli asked, but the tracks were quite obviously leading through the gate and onto the court, where they suddenly disappeared. 

“Maybe the bear lives here?” Ori suggested, immediately feeling stupid afterwards.

“Or the bear has killed the family living here”, a shiver ran down Bilbo’s spine and he ducked behind Kíli a little.

“There could be someone gravely injured in there! We need to have a look!” Kíli exclaimed, looking at his brother who wasn’t at all convinced. 

“You just want to know if the bear is in there”, he said dryly. 

“Don’t hold me for a heartless Dwarf! I am most worried about the wellbeing of the people living in this house!”

“Most worried my a-“

“Come on now!” with that Kíli grabbed his brother’s sleeve, pushed open the gate and pulled Fíli along on the court. Bilbo and Ori followed soon after, not wanting to be left alone. 

“Kíli, we don’t have time for this nonsense”, again Fíli was quickly shushed by his brother who had gone into adventure mode and completely ignored any demur directed at him. 

They carefully walked across the court, checking to their left and right and while Bilbo and Ori were legitimately concerned that a black bear might attack them any moment, Fíli seemed rather bored. 

Until he passed some curiously looking bee hives and was suddenly grabbed by the collar and yanked off his feet, right up in the air. 

“Fíli!” his brother shouted, quickly drawing bow and arrow. “Let him go!”

The one holding Fíli by the collar was a large Man, at least seven feet tall and very muscular. He had a long black beard and wore a woollen tunic, a grim look on his face. 

“Who are you and what are you doing on my property?!” he bellowed, his voice deep as thunder. 

“Let him go!” Kíli snarled, aiming right at the man’s head. 

The giant turned around to look at the other intruders and suddenly dropped Fíli, only to charge at Kíli next. 

“You! It was you!”

The young Dwarf was too startled to shoot, thus he was grabbed next and lifted off the ground. 

“You did this to me!” the Man yelled and nobody was quite sure what he was talking about, until Bilbo noticed that the man limbed badly. His eyes grew wide in shock and he suddenly became very pale, dropping down next to the coughing Fíli who still struggled to catch his breath.

“It’s him”, the Hobbit whispered. “He’s the bear.”

“Get lost”, Fíli grumbled and got back onto his feet. “My lord, would you be so kind and let my brother down again? We didn’t mean to intrude!”

“Yet you did!” the Man thundered, lifting the struggling Kíli even higher. “And I am no lord!”

“Then how may I address you?” Fíli asked, feeling uneasy at the sight of his brother dangling in the air like that. Although he had it coming, in a sense.

“My name is Beorn! And this is my home that you carelessly stepped into!”

“Our deepest apologies. We didn’t mean to cause any harm. If you could drop my brother, we will be on our way again.” 

Kíli gasped something about ‘fish’ and ‘supper’, trying to kick the massive Man but to no avail of course.

“What’s wrong with him?” Beorn asked, looking at the struggling Kíli.

“He is a little upset because a bear stole our supper last night”, Fíli explained and was surprised when Beorn dropped Kíli, not caring about the still tarnished state of the youngster. 

“For that I apologise”, the Man muttered, his chin high. “Instincts, I don’t usually steal fish.”

“So he is the bear!” Bilbo squealed, growing paler and paler by the minute. Kíli got up, coughing and dusting his coat off.

“Hope that arrow hurt”, he muttered, still very much peeved at Beorn for stealing their food. 

“It did!” Beorn barked, causing Bilbo, Fíli and Ori to flinch a little. “And I wonder how you wish to make up for that!”

“Not at all?” Kíli replied but was quickly pulled back by his brother, his mouth covered by Fíli’s hand. 

“We have nothing of value with us to offer unfortunately.”

“You could work your debt off”, Beorn suggested, looking around the court. “I can barely walk and my animals need tending to.” 

“Animals?” Ori piped up, suddenly being very interested. Down in the mountains, animals couldn’t prosper and live, thus they fascinated the young Dwarf just like any other living creature or plant. 

For the first time, Fíli felt sorry for Thorin. Deeply sorry. Keeping three companions in order and leading them on seemed like an impossible task already, considering how little time they had. He couldn’t even imagine leading thirteen of them, let alone an entire kingdom. All he wished for right now, was his bed in the Ered Luin or a good pint of mead. 

“Aye”, he muttered. “We shall do that then.”

They worked in Beorn’s Halls until nightfall, mucking out stables, sweeping the court and the buildings, cleaning windows, cutting wood and bringing it in and feeding Beorn’s huge grey hounds, that terribly scared the poor Hobbit, though they seemed quite friendly. 

By the time they had finished, the moon had already risen above the pine trees and all four of them were completely exhausted. They were thus surprised, when Beorn let them into the wooden hall they had cleaned before and a small supper was set up. Honey and cream, bread and a kind of warm herb liquor, all waiting for the hungry Dwarves and the little Hobbit.

“Help yourselves”, Beorn said, sitting down at the head of the table and watching a little bemused, as the four of them struggled to get up on the massive benches. Kíli helped Bilbo before climbing up himself. 

“I don’t usually like having guests”, the skin-changer explained. “But you worked well today. I must still ask you to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Fíli asked, his bruised fingers clasped around his cup of liquor. 

“You may sleep by the court tonight if you like. The woods have become dangerous, Wargs venture out from the north.”

“We noticed”, Kíli replied. “They attacked our company only a few days ago.”

“Company?”

“The four of us had to stay behind because of injuries”, Fíli explained. “We plan on meeting up with the rest up in the north soon though.”

“I see. Well you seem to have healed pretty well”, Beorn noticed. 

“We did, fortunately”, the elder brother nodded, taking a sip from the warm liquor and he immediately felt much better, while the Hobbit, Kíli and Ori were digging into honey and bread. “We do not mean to intrude any longer though, we can sleep in the woods as well. But thank you for the kind offer.”

“No need to act so polite, I know Dwarves aren’t like that”, Beorn muttered. “Loud creatures you are, ill-mannered as well.”

Kíli was about to fluff himself up again but Fíli nudged him under the table, of course hitting the already dickey ribs. 

“We’re sorry that you think of us this way and we will try not to bother you. Our Hobbit is genuinely friendly though.” Bilbo nearly choked on a piece of bread. 

“Do you know any stories, Master Hobbit?” Beorn asked, looking at Bilbo. 

“Stories?” the Hobbit twiddled with his cup. “Well, not many to be honest. And no interesting ones! Hobbits don’t venture out a lot.”

“Shame”, Beorn mumbled. “I enjoy good stories.”

“We could tell a story!” Kíli suggested but the skin-changer quickly pulled a face.

“I’m not interested in Dwarven adventures! Especially not when the Dwarves end up being heroic.”

“There is a story”, Ori quietly chipped in. “I-It is a Dwarven story but not a very charming one I suppose.” 

Kíli and Fíli looked at him, surprise showing on their features for they were not aware of any stories about dwarves that didn’t flatter them in any way. 

“Hm”, Beorn chuntered. “How about this. You tell your story and if I like it, and by that I mean like it a lot, I will let you sleep in my house and ease your trip to the north a little. I don’t meet many people with good stories.”

All eyes were on poor Ori, who had no idea what he had gotten himself into.


	14. Chapter 14

“A long time ago, way before Durin’s kin lost their home in Erebor, the Ered Luin had been the realm of a very famous, glorious Dwarven kingdom. The Dwarves of Nogrod”, Ori began after everyone got comfortable. “They were of high renown throughout Middle Earth for their fine craftsmanship and the beautiful jewels they created. Their treasure was immense, some say it even matched the treasure of the great King Thrór during his time, but nobody really knows.

“Their skills were so great and unbeaten, that even the glorious Elven King Thingol had heard of them. Thingol possessed a great treasure, the treasure of Nargothrond. He invited the finest Dwarven craftsmen to create their famous jewellery out of the immense treasure and they followed his call and travelled to Doriath.

“They worked hard, day and night and turned all the treasure into the finest embellishments. Their masterpiece however, was a necklace, more beautiful than anyone had ever seen. They called it the Nauglamír and Thingol was so mesmerized by it, that he asked the Dwarves for one last favour. He wanted them to embed one of the three legendary Silmaril, the Silmaril of his beautiful daughter Lùthien and her fiancé Beren, into the Nauglamír. 

“The Dwarves obediently followed Thingols order but when the jewel was finished, they were overcome with malice and greed for they too desired the necklace with the Silmaril. They asked for the Nauglamír as payment for their hard labour. Thingol, realising that the Dwarves were after the Silmaril, for none of them could resist a rare jewel, sent them from Doriath without payment, infuriated by their greed and boldness! They ventured back home to tell their kin about the betrayal of the Elves, never admitting that they were the ones at fault for they had been greedy and unjust. 

“Riled up, King Naugladur of Nogrod travelled to Doriath with an army to reclaim the Nauglamír. They slew Thingol, taking the necklace for themselves. Only a few survived the Battle of the Thousand Caves and those who did fled to the ford of the river Gelion, amongst them King Naugladur who kept the necklace. 

“At the ford however, they were ambushed by Beren and the Laiquendi of Ossiriand. Beren slew Naugladur and took the necklace. The few Dwarves that survived fled for the woods and right into the hands of the Ents. They never escaped those woods again. 

“Ever since that day, an everlasting hostility remained between the Dwarves and the Elves that still rages even today, hundreds of years later. A hostility caused by Dwarven greed, no more or less.”

Ori ended his story and blinked surprised, since all eyes were fixed on him, everyone completely drawn into the story. For even though he was the chronicler, Fíli and Kíli had never known that he was a good story teller and Bilbo never knew about the great treasure and the necklace. 

“What happened to the Dwarves of Nogrod? You said that the Ered Luin had been their realm. Where are they now?” the Hobbit asked, still mesmerized by the story. 

“Nogrod was destroyed during the War of Wrath at the end of the First Age, when the Valar fought Morgoth for the last time and defeated him”, Fíli explained, showing himself great knowledge in the history of his kin. “The Blue Mountains broke and the Gulf of Luin flowed into Eriador, tearing Nogrod and Belegost alike. When our kin arrived under the lead of my grandfather, the Ered Luin was unoccupied and in a desolate state. Thráin and Thorin rebuilt the kingdom for our kin to live in.”

The Hobbit was speechless. He only knew little of Thorins story, nothing of their suffering and he had never imagined the graveness of this quest, nor had he known that Thorin was a great King like this. A King, yes, an exiled King but no King to rebuilt an entire kingdom. And for the first time, Bilbo understood the weight on Thorin’s shoulders and he felt for him.

The skin-changer hadn’t said a word since Ori had ended the story and sat at the end of the table, lighting a pipe. He remained quiet for while, slowly driving Kíli impatient but the youngster stayed calm, still a little taken aback by the story. Growing up with Thorin’s stories, he had always believed that it was the Elves fault that had caused the hostility. 

He glanced at his brother but if Fíli was as surprised and disappointed as he was, he didn’t show it at all. Instead, Fíli waited for Beorn to say something.

“Young Dwarf”, their host finally began and Ori flinched a little. “It was very much a Dwarven story.”

Their hope for help quickly faded, clearly showing on the faces of Bilbo and Ori.

“It was however one of the most haunting stories I have ever heard”, Beorn continued and a smile was barely visible under his thick black beard. “Tomorrow morning you shall be given provisions for at least three days, as well as two horses to bring you to the North. They are quite big so two of you will be able to ride one.”

Kíli began to beam like a child at the sight of a candy and even Fíli’s eyes grew wide. Bilbo looked so utterly relieved, his friends were worried that he might topple off the bench, while Ori couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. 

“Just promise me”, Beorn remarked though. “Promise me not to enter the Mirkwood with my horses and to send them back home, should you not need them anymore.”

“We promise!” Fíli declared and Kíli grabbed Ori by the shoulders.

“You did it! In Durin’s name, you did it! Thanks to you we will get to the North in no time!” 

“Th-Thanks to me?” Ori muttered.

“Of course! You are the best chronicler ever!” and Kíli hugged Ori, earnestly and cheerfully. 

It was then, that one of Ori’s biggest dreams came true. Fíli and Kíli were impressed. The two great Heirs of Durin, those self-confident, strong and glorious princes were impressed by something he had done. He looked at Fíli who smiled gratefully and tears of joy formed in his eyes. The one thing he had always wanted finally happened and now he was regarded as an equal. 

They chatted until way past midnight, telling Beorn everything about their journey and, along the way, got the Hobbit very very drunk on herb liquor. Bilbo even told the story of Bullroarer Took and sang various tavern songs and after the Dwarves and the Hobbit had fallen asleep, happily snoring in the makeshift beds that Beorn’s servants had set up in the hall for them, Beorn left once more to venture out into the night in the form of a great, black bear. 

When the little company got up the next morning, they felt slightly hung over and not quite ready to deal with the world but packed their belongings nonetheless. Outside on the yard, Bilbo found himself confronted with the biggest horse he had ever seen in his life. Beorn’s horses were large, the size of carthorses and way too big for any Dwarf or Hobbit. One of them was of a dark brown and shining like a chestnut with a black mane and tail and a white blaze. The other one was a dapple grey and couldn’t even see properly because of its long fringe. The small Hobbit swallowed hard. 

“I hope these will do?” Beorn thundered in his deep but friendly voice. “Or might the Dwarven lords be afraid of large horses?”

Kíli and Fíli had sure enough grown a little quiet at the sight of the horses. They knew how to ride ponies but those animals were about twice their size and they could barely reach their nostrils. 

“Afraid? No, not at all!” Kíli declared quickly, shouldering his belongings. They knew that any saddle would be way too big and uncomfortable, so they had agreed on riding with snaffles only, however now they did not even know how to mount the giant animals. “Do you have a bucket or something?”

Only a few minutes later, Kíli sat on the chestnut brown one, Ori behind him, clinging onto his waist. Fíli had mounted the dapple grey one and Beorn quickly picked Bilbo up, before the Hobbit could get second thoughts and sat him in front of Fíli. None of them seemed completely confident about this, except for Beorn who quietly smirked behind his beard.

After they said their goodbyes and thanked Beorn for the shelter and the horses, the skin-changer even promising his help, should they ever need it, they slowly made their way off the yard, still a little weary of their shaking mounts and the ground lying way below their feet.

“We’re gonna die”, Bilbo muttered quietly, glimpsing down at their large shadows.

“Now now Master Baggins. Remember your great great great and so on uncle. When you come back home to Bag End, you can tell everyone that you have ridden on a really big horse”, Fíli tried to cheer Bilbo up, even though the Hobbit didn’t seem too convinced. 

They followed the Anduin again, riding along its shores and after a while, they had grown used to the rocking of the large horses, actually finding them a lot more comfortable than their little ponies. Ori kept looking for landmarks and seemed surprised about their quick progress. Those horses really were worth their weight in gold. 

By nightfall, Thorin had still refused to leave their camp behind and move on to the Grey Mountains. He knew they still had time at hand before their help would arrive from the East and he was hoping and silently praying for his nephews to arrive soon. Nobody seemed really pleased with the decision of their leader, yet nobody dared to criticise him. 

Bifur and Bofur sat on a nights watch outside the old barn within the ruins of the Framsburg. For a long time, they had kept and eye on the burning Mount Gundabad but soon weariness had swept over them like a veil and they had fallen asleep sometime after midnight, the remaining Dwarves happily snoring in the barn. 

They of course did not notice the shadows creeping up on them in the darkness of the night, blades glistening in the moonlight and hushed voices echoing from the ruins. 

Several Orcs, alerted by the smouldering campfire, had dared to descend from the mountain, travelled through the abandoned city and now stood, grinning at the sight of the sleeping Dwarves.

“He will be pleased”, one of them whispered, drawing a horrible, crooked sword. “Any dead Dwarf is a good Dwarf.”

They crept closer, quietly, slowly, one halted before Bofur and lifted his blade high up to slaughter the Dwarf in his sleep. 

Bofur awoke with a start from the sound of a blade crashing onto another. He recognised Thorin’s massive fur coat before him, Orcrist gleaming in the dark. “What in Durin’s-“, when he noticed the Orcs, he was quickly on his feet, his pickaxe ready to be buried in another skull. 

Though caught off guard, the Dwarves were quick, gathering their weapons. The clangour of blades was audible far across the ruins of Framsburg, reaching up to the slopes of Mount Gundabad. A scream echoed from the ruins, when one of the Orcs buried his sword deeply in Dwalin’s shoulder, enraging the battle-scarred warrior until he went into a fury, slaying the creature mercilessly with both his axes. 

“We need te get out of here!” he yelled at Thorin, pulling the blade from his shoulder. The King of Thorin’s Halls beheaded another Orc, his clothes and face already stained in black blood.

“Thorin! They know where we are now, we cannot stay here any longer!” Dwalin clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder. 

Another Orc head rolled and those who knew Thorin, Balin and Dwalin, his closest kin, immediately noticed the frustration and anger in his face. Dori’s words had eaten him during the past days, guilt was burning his innards away and no matter how many times he had told himself that what he had done was for the best, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might have abandoned his nephews after all. 

“Thorin!”

Durin’s heir snapped back into reality, the fury slowly vanishing from his eyes. He looked around to find the ground scattered with corpses and cut body parts. Glóin buried his axe in the back of the last remaining Orc, then they stood in silence, breathing heavily. And it dawned on them, that they had been found out and no matter where they went from here, they wouldn’t be safe anymore. And neither would the youngsters, once they arrived.

“Pack up!” Thorin bellowed. “We’re leaving for the Grey Mountains right now, no time to waste!” 

“This is folly, Thorin”, Balin muttered. “There is no way we can defeat those Orcs, no matter where we hide.”

“Do you want your home back or not?!” Thorin snapped at him, leaving Balin speechless. 

Some of them began to believe that their leader had gone mad, just like his father had done years before him. Others noticed that he was scared to the bones. And then there were the few who remained impressed by his determination, amongst them the heavily wounded Dwalin, who was the first to gather his belongings, despite his bleeding shoulder. 

“Ye heard’im! Move!”

They packed up, Balin leaving a landmark and a mysterious writing in old Khuzdul for the youngsters. They left Framsburg quiet as shadows, hurrying down to the mouth of the Anduin to make their way further north without being noticed.


	15. Chapter 15

After travelling for the day and even riding through the night, the small company of four arrived at the ruins of Framsburg by sunrise. Bilbo had fallen asleep in Fíli’s arms, leaning against the soft, warm fur of his coat, when the soothing rocking motion suddenly stopped and he awoke, blinking irritated.

“We there yet?” he mumbled, looking around.

“They were here”, Kíli remarked. “And not too long ago.” 

The slain black bodies of the Orcs still plastered the ground before the barn, no rain had yet washed away the ashes of the campfire and a few, very faint prints of heavy, metal capped boots were visible in the churned ground. 

“There!” Ori suddenly yelled and slid off the horses back to rush to a flat stone by the side of the barn. Bilbo craned his neck to see what he was looking at but couldn’t make any sense of the sheer endless strokes and points, written in ash upon the light stone. 

“It’s a message!” 

Fíli steered his horse closer to Ori, leaning over its neck to read. 

“The Grey Mountains?” he glanced into the far distance up North towards a range of mountains that glistened in the morning sun, it’s top still covered in clouds.

“Why would they head to the Grey Mountains?”

“To find shelter I suppose. The old fortress has long been abandoned but it is still a safe place for any Dwarf to rest”, Ori explained. “We have camped there before on our journeys. It’s not the most comfortable place but it’s sufficient.” 

Kíli’s eyes rested on Mount Gundabad, that lay quietly and peacefully during the day, when no Orcs roamed its slopes. Suddenly, he listened up, placing a finger before his lips. “Shh. Did you hear that?”

The Warg attacked before they could even see it and lay dead a second later, its skull split by the strong, large hoof of Fíli’s horse. The dapple grey pranced a little nervous until Fíli had calmed him down again, patting its neck. 

“So this place isn’t even safe during the day. I wonder why they camped here”, he mused, eyeing the dead Warg. It was large and direful and clearly belonged to the pack that had attacked them before. Thorin had thus been right: the key had been carried off to Mount Gundabad.

“We should hurry and get to the fortress as quickly as possible. Ori, get back on the horse. Master Baggins, hold on tight. We have no time to lose anymore.”

Kíli pulled Ori back up and spurred his horse just as Fíli did, the animals dashing forward towards the Grey Mountains. Just simply riding those horses had been exciting enough for the hobbit, galloping with them however scared the living hell out of Bilbo and he clung to the horses thick mane, glad that Fílis arms to his left and right prevented him from falling off. 

Again it was Kíli first, who heard the distant thundering of paws on the rocks and grassland and as he looked back over his shoulder, he grew pale in shock. 

“Oh no!”

A pack of about ten Wargs was at their heels, baring their teeth, their tongues hanging from their blood red throats. They were fast and more agile than the horses and soon only a few feet separated them from their persecutors. 

“Fíli!” Kíli yelled, causing his brother to look back. “Faster! We have to outrun them!”

The ground was shaking below the hoofs of the large horses and even though the two Dwarves pushed the animals on, the space between them and the Wargs grew smaller and smaller. They heard the jaws clicking and snapping, heard them growl and howl and when Bilbo glimpsed to his side, the saw the eerie grimace of a particularly ugly one coming closer and closer.

He was sure to lose his life in this very moment, when suddenly Fíli’s large battle hammer crashed down into the Warg’s face, splitting its skull. Looking behind them, he saw Ori holding the horse’s reins from around Kíli’s body, who was shooting arrows at the attacking Wargs. 

One fell, then another one and two more fell back, hit by the beautifully engraved, platinum hammer. The remaining Wargs soon fell behind, seemingly unsure and browbeat by the large horses and the Dwarven weapons that rained down mercilessly on them. They soon disappeared into various directions but the two Dwarven princes didn’t slow their horses down. They thundered across the grassland, determined to reach the old fortress by night. 

Bilbo’s heartbeat slowly calmed down, the fright still stuck deeply in his Hobbit bones. He glimpsed up at Fíli’s face, only to find a certain grim determination on the youthful, usually so beautiful features of the Dwarf. The same determination that showed on Thorin’s face and for the first time, the family resemblance became obvious to the Hobbit. 

The river Anduin gushed and gurgled to their right, as they got closer to the mountain, reaching a large stone bridge by nightfall. Before them stood the dark pillars of the old fortress of the Grey Mountains, towering above. They crossed the Anduin and dashed on. Bilbo peeked down into the abyss below the bridge and swallowed hard. 

It was Bofur who noticed them first, nearly dropping his pipe when he glimpsed down from a balcony above to find two very large horses rushing across the bridge, the youngsters and the Hobbit atop. 

“What on earth-“, for the first time the chatty miner was speechless. 

“THORIN!”

Durin’s heir nearly dropped the blade he was sharpening when Bofur sprinted into the great hall where they had set up their camp. 

“Thorin!”

“What’s wrong with you now?”

All eyes were on Bofur, who nearly collapsed from running so quickly. He tried to regain his breath, supporting himself with his hands on his knees.

“They’re-“, he paused for a second, slowly causing Thorin to grow impatient. “They’re here!”

“Who is here?”

“The lads!”

Nothing could hold Thorin back any longer. He dropped Orcrist and rushed past Bofur, closely followed by Nori and Dori who wanted to see their little brother again. They ran down various steps, through the wooden gate of the fort until they reached a massive round arch and only stepped to the side in time, not to be trampled by the huge horses. 

The animals baulked, not being used to the dark confinements of a Dwarven fortress inside a mountain but if even Wargs couldn’t scare the hell out of them, a dark mountain wouldn’t either. 

By the time the youngsters had calmed the horses, the remaining Dwarves had arrived, all of them gleaming with joy that the four youngest had made it back safe and sound. Fíli was the first to slide from the back of the dapple grey and was immediately pulled into a tight embrace by his uncle, who beamed with joy and pride. 

“You’ve made it”, Thorin breathed relieved and proud, leaning his forehead against Fíli’s. “You’ve made it!” 

“Sorry it took us so long”, Fíli replied, smiling proud against his uncles thick fur coat. 

Glóin and Bifur took hold of the horses reins until Kíli, Ori and Bilbo had slipped off the high backs as well, Ori immediately compassed by his brothers and whilst Dori cried tears of relief and joy, Kíli found himself greeted just as loving and proud as his brother, returning Thorin’s embrace and digging his fingers deep into the fur at his back. 

“You two! You two have made me incredibly proud!” Thorin declared, nearly bringing Kíli to tears who desired nothing more than his uncles appreciation. 

“Ye alright laddies?” Balin smiled, relieved himself that the youngsters had made it back.

Bilbo was greeted merrily, to his own surprise, by Bofur and Bombur, who had grown fond of the Hobbit and he even received an approving nod from Dwalin, who leaned on one of his axes, a thick bandage covering his neck and shoulder. 

“Where’d you get them horses then?” Bofur asked, looking curiously at the two animals. 

“We got them from a man that can turn into a bear!” Kíli exclaimed grinning brightly.

“Poor bugger”, Dwalin muttered to his brother. “Hopelessly addicted to them poppy seeds.”

“You got them from where?” Bofur asked puzzled, not quite sure if the boy was genuine or maybe still a little off due to his wounds. 

“Long story”, Kíli smirked. “Brilliant to tell over a pint!” 

“We shall do that then”, Thorin smiled, turning to the horses then. “Those might come in handy later. Tie them up by the gate.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that”, Fíli objected, earning himself surprised glances from the company. “I promised to send them back to their owner, once they served their duty. He was most kind to us, I don’t want to break the promise I made.”

For a moment, everyone just silently looked at Fíli, wondering what had become of the usually reckless and carefree youngster. He stood there in the middle of the hall, his face still scratched and a little scarred, the blood of the battered Wargs on his clothes with a serious, almost regal look on his face and it was in that moment, that he had convinced everyone, including Thorin, that there could be no better heir to the throne.

“Well, then you shall keep your promise”, Thorin nodded.

They sent the horses off before settling down in the great hall, convinced that they would arrive safely had Beorn’s Halls again. With a good meal, partially made up from Beorn’s provisions for the youngsters, and a small barrel of ale, they sat together by a campfire and the four adventurers told their tale. 

They told them about Radagast and his healing magic, about their little fishing escapade and about Fíli taking a swim in the Anduin and also about Kíli shooting an arrow in Beorn’s behind, which had the company howling with laughter.

“I didn’t know it was a man!” Kíli defended himself but laughed along with them. “He had our supper!”

“And the first thing you thought of was to shoot him?” Glóin bawled, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. 

They all felt a joy and relief that they thought had left them for good ever since they had arrived here in the North. The dangers of Mount Gundabad lurking in the darkness outside were forgotten that night, for their youngest had come back to them safely and they had proven themselves. 

“How could he forgive you that?” Bofur asked curiously, convinced that he would have been pretty mad at anybody who shot him in the buttocks. 

“It’s all thanks to Ori”, Fíli smiled and suddenly all eyes were on the young chronicler. 

“What, thanks to him?” Dwalin asked, just as surprised as everybody else.

“Yeah”, Kíli continued. “He made it up by telling the best story we’ve ever heard!”

“It was mesmerizing”, Bilbo added and Fíli nodded in agreement.

“Without him we wouldn’t be here right now.”

And once again tears of joy shot into poor Ori’s eyes and he sat there very quietly, holding onto his cup of ale with Dori and Nori at his sides. 

“To Ori then”, Thorin said, lifting his cup.

“TO ORI!” it echoed through the fortress.

At the same time a white stallion appeared on a hilltop not too far away from the old fortress. Gandalf looked down into the valley, Mount Gundabad ablaze in the far distance. He petted Shadowfax’ neck in approval. 

“Thank you my friend. Only a few miles more and you shall be on your way again.” 

The horse flattened its ears when footsteps approached from behind. Thick armour clattered in the darkness, heavy shoes made of solid iron scrunched on the stony ground. 

“He will be most delighted that you came”, Gandalf said quietly glancing to his side. 

“Can’t let him down again, can I? We’re family after all”, a hoarse, deep voice rumbled through the air as a grim, tattooed face turned towards the fires of Mount Gundabad. 

“Haven’t killed Orcs in a while. This shall be some fun.”


	16. Chapter 16

The following day passed by quickly. The Dwarves had kept themselves busy with preparations for an inevitable battle, since Thorin’s mind was stuck on getting the key back and by now, he had convinced most members of the company to fight by his side. They knew that without the key, they might as well go back home to the Ered Luin, for none of them could enter the mountain through the front gate. Not without being roasted alive at least.

They had sharpened their weapons, blades and arrowheads alike, polished their shields and armour and since Bombur and Nori had found various barrels of wine in the deep vaults of the old fortress, they kept their war spirits high by drinking and singing battle songs.

Bilbo was most irritated and by nightfall, he was genuinely scared. So far this journey had proven difficult but nobody had ever actively sought out battle. Watching the Dwarves getting all riled up and ready, almost keen on laying their lives on the line, made the hobbit uneasy. 

He had crept from one Dwarf to the next, peering over their shoulders, looking at the notably large and impressive weapons and he had quickly begun to feel out of place. After the fifths vile battle song, Bilbo snuck away into the darkness of the fortress. He needed some fresh air and settled down on one of the balconies looking over the valley and Mount Gundabad. The mountain was on fire once more and fear crept into every fibre of Bilbo’s body.

He flinched badly, when a voice spoke up behind him, though familiar and friendly.

“Now what’s our burglar doing out here on his own?” Kíli smiled, a cup of wine in hands. His brother was right behind him and as they stepped out on the balcony, Fíli handed another cup to Bilbo.

“You forgot that in the hall.”

“Thank you”, the Hobbit muttered, fumbling with the cup in his hands.

“Everything alright?” the tone in Kíli’s voice suddenly changed, becoming a little worried.

“Yeah well- no. No not really”, Bilbo sighed. “This whole… well, everything really, this is… this is really bothering me, you know?”

“What’s bothering you?” Fíli heaved himself up on the wide stone balustrade of the balcony. 

“The fighting”, Bilbo admitted. “You guys seem so ready for all this and I’m just… terrified.”

A tiny and very crooked smile played on the lips of the Hobbit and Fíli and Kíli looked at each other, sympathy and concern in their eyes.

“I just… I think I’ve never wanted to be home so badly before.”

“You know what?” Kíli said, gently putting an arm around poor Bilbo’s shoulders. “Us neither.”

“What?” the Hobbit blinked. “But you’re getting all ready for the battle.”

“There’s no other choice, is there?” Fíli asked, smiling a little. “This fight needs to be fought, otherwise all the trouble of the past weeks has been for nothing.”

“But believe us, Master Baggins”, Kíli added quietly. “We’re pretty much terrified as well.” 

The Hobbit did not really feel much better but a slight weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Though he did not really need to prove himself to Thorin and the rest of the company as much as the youngsters did, he had felt sick only thinking about the coming days. Knowing that those two brave Dwarves were scared as well made the small Hobbit feel a little less doomed. 

They rose their glasses to each other, taking a good gulp each when suddenly the clangour of armour and metal distracted them. Fíli glanced over his shoulder, Kíli and Bilbo soon by the balustrade as well and as they glimpsed down, they couldn’t believe their eyes.

About four dozen Dwarves marched across the stone bridge and towards the fortress, all in heavy armour with glistening weapons and helmets. At their tip walked a particularly outstanding Dwarf. He was quite tall, his armour glistening in bronze and on his back was a large, bright red battle axe. He strutted down the bridge as if the place belonged to him and though the youngsters on the balcony couldn’t see his face, they suddenly grew very pale, their eyes big as saucers.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s him”, Kíli whispered, completely amazed. He looked up to his brother, suddenly beaming with excitement. “It’s him!” 

“Who?” the puzzled Hobbit looked after Kíli as he rushed past him and back into the hall, closely followed by Fíli who simply grabbed Bilbo’s hand and pulled him along.

Only a few moments later, the wooden gates of the fortress flew open with a bang. The Dwarves of the company, alerted by Kíli’s enthusiastic chit chatter and yelling, stood on top of the stairs, watching carefully. Thorin’s face was stern and curious, he half expected Gandalf to return alone but as soon as he recognised the Dwarf waltzing into the hall, relief gushed over his features. 

Bilbo peeked around Fíli’s waist and when he saw the face of the Dwarf with the red axe, he quickly ducked behind the young prince again, scared as he had never seen features this cold and grim before. 

He carried no helmet but instead a thick mane of black hair stood from his head in a Mohawk. A terrible scar ran down one of his eyes and his cheeks were tattooed with thick, black Khuzdul letters. Light eyes were burning in his face, smart but cold and a shiver ran down the Hobbit’s spine, as he clutched his fingers into Fíli’s coat. This Dwarf could never be an ally. 

“So this is how it is”, Thorin slowly began. “One needs to call on the great hero twice before he answers.”

“Why would one hero answer the call of another?” the other Dwarf replied, his voice deep and thundering. 

The two Dwarf lords stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity and Bilbo began to grow very uneasy, slightly tucking on Fíli’s coat, before a broad smirk suddenly grew on the lips of the fierce Dwarf. He took a few quick steps towards the stairs, met by Thorin halfway and they greeted each other with a loving bear hug and laughter.

“It’s so good to see you right now”, Thorin smiled.

“Can’t let family down again now, can I?”

“Family?” Bilbo chirped up, looking at Fíli.

“This is Thorin’s cousin”, Fíli smiled. “The legendary Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills.”

The reception of their new guests was most warm and noisy, like it always was amongst Dwarves. Not only Thorin was delighted to see Dáin, Dwalin and Balin greeted the great warrior just as merrily since they had fought in battles together before. Especially Dwalin seemed joyful, for he had spend many years in the Iron Hills himself, serving under Dáin when Thorin had nothing for him to do. 

They soon settled down in the great hall, more barrels of wine were opened and the kill of Dáin’s people was roasting above some fires. Chatter filled the high hall. 

Thorin and Dáin sat at the end of the hall and though both were lords and mighty, they had gotten comfortable on the cold stone ground, smoking, drinking and talking. Bilbo watched them curiously from a distance, sitting next to Kíli who still couldn’t grasp that this was happening. Ever since Dáin had arrived, the youngster hadn’t said a single word.

“What’s the matter with him then?” Bilbo asked, pointing at a completely mesmerized Kíli who, if they hadn’t known better, seemed pretty much in love.

“Oh, Dáin is his childhood hero”, Fíli grinned, waving a hand before Kíli’s face but to no avail. “We grew up with stories of Dáin and his heroic deeds and ever since, Kíli had dreamt about seeing him only once.”

“So he’s a great warrior then?”

“He’s a legend. It was Dáin who brought justice to our kin, when he slayed the great Orc lord Azog, the murderer of my great grandfather and last King under the Mountain. He was even younger than we are now, they say, but when he saw his own father Náin being killed in the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs at the front gate of Moria, he didn’t hesitate for a second and rushed towards Azog and beheaded him”, Fíli beamed, not wanting to admit that he admired Dáin just as much as his brother did.

Suddenly, Thorin looked over to them and waved them to come. 

Again Kíli grew very pale, the cup of wine in his hands shaking. Even Fíli swallowed hard. 

“I think he wants you to come over”, Bilbo stated the obvious and he smirked bemused, as the two young Dwarves got up from their spot, their knees weak and their legs shaking a little. 

There was no smile on Dáin’s face, no sign of approval, only grim curiosity, when the youngsters stepped up to them. 

“So”, he began. “Those two are the youngest heirs of the House of Durin then.”

Kíli and Fíli bowed in unison. 

“Your uncle told me a great deal about you”, Dáin eyed them carefully. “Slaying Goblins and Wargs, leading your own little company from the Old Forest up here. Not a bad start for two young fellas like yourselves.”

Thorin had the most proud smile on his face. He’d been waiting for a long time to present his nephews to Dáin, for he had never seen the boys before and only heard various stories of their younger days whenever Dwalin had been around to visit him. 

“Who’s the elder?” Dáin asked.

“That’s me”, Fíli answered and stepped forward a little. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“Hm”, Dáin examined him for a while, not saying anything. “The next heir to the throne, once your uncle has bitten the dust then. Lookin’ like your father, I must say. Great warrior. Great Dwarf.”

Suddenly, the old warrior smirked underneath his thick black beard.

“It’s an honour to finally meet you as well, my young lord.” 

He got up from his spot and tightly hugged Fíli first before he turned to Kíli to greet him as well. They sat together, chatting into the night, drinking wine and laughing. Soon the good old Dwarven songs echoed through the halls of the old fortress and even though the Hobbit wasn’t sure if this was appropriate behaviour on the eve of battle, he enjoyed this a lot more than the sharpening of weapons. And he sat by Bofur’s side, listening and sipping wine.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,  
While hammers fell like ringing bells.  
In places deep, where dark things sleep,  
In hollow halls beneath the fells.  
On silver necklaces they strung  
The light of stars, on crowns they hung  
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire  
The melody of harps they wrung. 

Bilbo smiled quietly. Even though there had been plenty of times when he regretted joining this adventure, he just needed to look around, look at all those faces looking proud, the deep voices singing the old songs of the Dwarves and he knew, that he was in the company of the most single-hearted kin of middle earth and he wouldn’t want to lose any of them. 

Here at the Gates the king awaits,  
His hands are rich with gems and gold.  
The king has come unto his hall,  
Under the mountain dark and tall.  
The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,  
And ever so our foes shall fall! 

Late at night, when the fires had burned down, the songs were sang and the wine was drunk and most Dwarves had fallen into a deep slumber, Thorin and Dáin still sat together by the glowing ashes. 

“We need to reclaim the key. You are with me on this Dáin, aren’t you?” Thorin asked.

“I will help you get your key back”, Dáin droned. “But the dragon you will have to face alone. I’ve seen and heard plenty of him to know that I don’t want to get involved.”

“Fair enough”, Thorin muttered, trying not to sound too upset. He had hoped that Dáin might have changed his mind. “I believe the key will be with the lord of Mount Gundabad by now. I doubt that the Wargs have held onto it.”

“Not likely”, Dáin agreed. “You do know though who reigns over Mount Gundabad, don’t you?”

“Some Orc I suppose.”

Dáin suddenly grinned maliciously. 

“Not just some Orc. The one ruling in these realms is Bolg, Azog’s son. He will, no doubt, be keen on continuing where his father left off. He will go for your head Thorin. And once he has slaughtered you, he will slaughter your lovely nephews as well. And then it’s my turn.”

Thorin gazed at the red blaze for a while, deep in thoughts. He hadn’t known about Bolg and the happenings of the Battle of Azanulbizar lay way behind him, far far away from his home in the Ered Luin. Facing an old enemy again was nothing desired by the King of Thorin’s Halls but nothing to be avoided either.

“Then we will have to slaughter him first”, he said quietly.

“Aye”, Dáin agreed. “We shall do that.”


	17. Chapter 17

Their slumber was disturbed in the early hours of the morning by a loud banging on the wooden gates. Alarmed and weary that it might be Orcs trying to break into the fortress, Thorin and Dáin stood with their weapons drawn, Dáin’s soldiers up in arms already while Thorin’s company of tinkers and toymakers still had to rub the sleep from their eyes. 

It was however no pack of Orcs knocking at their front door. It was Gandalf who, as Thorin only noticed now, had not joined their party the night before. The wizard looked upset and a little rough as he hurried into the hall. 

“Good! Good!” he muttered. “You’re all up and ready, get going then!”

“Going? Where?” Thorin asked and Dáin, who mistrusted the wizard anyways, leaned on his red battle axe, curiously eyeing the old man. 

“Where? Are you seriously asking me that, Thorin Oakenshield?!”, Gandalf thundered. “Dawn is approaching, daylight will soon shine, this is your chance! The Orcs are retiring into the mountain during the day, most of them will sleep, if this is not the right time to attack then I do not know what is!”

Bilbo’s heart dropped and he suddenly felt a large lump in his throat. He carefully looked over to Fíli and Kíli who had both grown very pale all of a sudden and for the first time he actually saw the fear on their faces. It had all been talk and adventure yesterday but now, on the brim of heading out and into battle, the two youngsters suddenly seemed very much terrified.

“He’s right”, Dáin muttered. “This way we might not have to face the entire colony but only few of’em. 

“Wargs will guard the entrance to the mountain”, Thorin chipped in and Dáin nodded, still casually leaning onto his axe.

“No doubt about that. But as it seems you’ve raised some very skilled Warg hunters”, he glimpsed over to Fíli and Kíli. “My men are ready. Are yours ready too?”

Thorin looked around his company and suddenly felt very small and crestfallen. The only true warriors amongst them were Dwalin, who was still injured, Balin and himself. Óin and Glóin, though of Durin’s line as well, were men of business and treasurers. Ori, Dori and Nori were travelling merchants, trained to defend themselves but none of them had ever served in battle before. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur, though sturdy and brave were only miners and toymakers. And Kíli and Fíli had only just tasted some fighting and no idea what they were getting themselves into. He didn’t even want to think about the Halfling. 

When not a word came from their leader, the small company quickly realised that they were not sufficient. Especially the Dwarves of the far East looked hurt and disappointed, Bofur even ready to turn his back on Thorin, when suddenly Kíli’s voice echoed through the hall.

“We are ready! Every single one of us!” 

Thorin stared at him, surprise showing on his features. 

“We all knew that this quest is no waltz, we were ready the very moment we set off on this journey! We’ve come so far and if the only thing, that is keeping us from rightfully reclaiming what is ours, is a horde of Orcs, then so be it! I am not going to back down! And neither are the others!”

Thorin couldn’t believe it when his small company suddenly broke out in cheers, soon joined by Dáin’s soldiers. Gandalf looked from one Dwarf to the other, smiling to himself and even the greatest warrior amongst them had to smirk underneath his black beard.

“And what does the other heir of Durin say to this?” he thundered.

“Let’s slay some Orcs”, Fíli smirked. 

Dáin roared with laughter, forcefully patting Thorin on the back. “You should back down old man and let your nephews do the job for you!” 

And Thorin smiled. Relieved and earnest and oh so proud of the boys, who stood their ground even when he couldn’t. 

“Right then. Everybody get going! We have Orcs to kill!”

The sun was rising above the Grey Mountains, painting the grassland and slopes in a bloody red, when the Dwarves arrived at the base of Mount Gundabad. It had grown very quiet, the Orcs already lingering deep inside the mountain again. 

Bilbo, though scared and fearing for his life, had refused to stay behind, impressing Thorin but even more so Fíli and Kíli, who had tried to convince him to stay in the fortress. To no avail. The Hobbit stood beside Gandalf, observing the great wooden entrance into the mountain in a distance. They had never come so close to Mount Gundabad before.

“Do you… do you really think it is wise to fight inside a mountain?” he blipped, becoming more and more nervous with every passing second.

“The caverns and caves and tunnels of the mountains are Dwarven territory. Letting them fight on an open field might impose risks but trust them, my dear Bilbo, they know how to fight under the ground. Probably better than any Orc does”, the wizard smiled a little and though Bilbo was not completely convinced, he did feel a bit better.

“I brought soldiers, no scouts”, Dáin mumbled as he looked at the gate. “Just marching there without knowing what awaits us might be unwise.”

Just one glance from Thorin was enough and Fíli and Kíli scurried off, quietly and quickly. 

“Well”, Dáin raised his eyebrows. “They really are quite a courageous pair.”

“They are of Durin’s line. What did you expect?” Thorin answered, his chest rising with pride.

The two youngsters hurried across the grassland, using every rock and every broom to hide. Their Dwarven size and steady treadle made them invisible to an Orc eye and they managed to get close to the front gate, where they lingered, hiding behind a large rock. 

“Thorin was right”, Kíli whispered. “There are Wargs guarding the entrance.”

He counted at least a dozen, lazily lying at the gate and above, some of them even yawning or gnawing on large bones. 

“Those can’t be the only ones”, Fíli mumbled. He looked back over his shoulder, assessing the distance from their spot to the others. “If we could draw them away from the mountain and slay them on the fields below, the Orcs won’t notice the fight and we could get into the mountain without alerting them.”

The young Dwarves looked at each other, once again not needing to say a word to know that they were thinking the same. 

“Remember what we swore to each other”, Kíli said quietly.

“You remember it as well”, Fíli replied, smiling a little. He gently ruffled his younger brothers hair, nothing but love showing on his features and Kíli smiled as well, before he nodded.

“Let’s do this then.” 

A large grey Warg casually stretched on one of the rocks towering above the entrance to the mountain. It yawned and blinked irritated at the sunlight, gnarling a little before resting its massive head on its front paws. Beside it lay another Warg, lighter and smaller but no less lazy and tired from hunting in the night. 

The arrow came out of nowhere, drilling itself deep between the eyes of the smaller animal, letting it drop dead on the spot. The other Warg startled, snarling deep and feverishly began to look around, but couldn’t find the archer. It got up from its spot, sniffing the air and thus alarmed the other Wargs. 

Another arrow hit a second Warg in the head, killing it instantly. A third one dropped dead from a throwing axe, then a fourth one and the animals grew more and more belligerent, howling and snarling, baring their teeth at the invisible assaulter.

When they finally descended from the mountain slopes, the young Dwarves waited in some distance. As expected, there were more than just the dozen they had counted before. They lingered in caves and on various platforms, overall possibly thirty large Gundabad Wargs that slowly made their way down onto the grassland. 

“I’ll take the path to the left”, Kíli whispered and his brother nodded.

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

They looked at each other one last time before they rushed off in opposite directions. 

Again an arrow flew through the air, hitting a Warg right in the shoulder and causing it to howl in pain. This time though, they found the archer. Kíli stood on a rock, his sword drawn. 

“Oi! You mangy mutt! Over here!” 

A black throwing knife darted right into the face of another Warg and a few yards away, Fíli stood on a stump, the battle hammer in his hands. 

“Try this way you filthy fleabag!”

The plan of the youngsters worked out way better than they expected as the Wargs suddenly dashed forward, sprinting right at the Dwarves. Without hesitation, they both turned around and rushed down the grassland, Fíli to the right, Kíli to the left.

They knew that they couldn’t outrun the Wargs forever, for those beasts were amongst the fastest creatures of Middle Earth and the Dwarves with their short legs were no born sprinters. They did have one advantage though and that was their small size. 

Kíli soon heard the panting of the beasts in his back and as he briefly looked over his shoulder, he saw the first Wargs only a few feet behind himself, already snapping at him. He quickly swerved to the side, causing the closest Warg to crash straight into a broom. He felt the ground tremble under the massive weight of the beasts, heard the sharp claws scratching on the ground and the clicking of the jaws and he silently prayed that he would make it back to the company alive. He glimpsed to his right and found Fíli a little ahead, running like mad himself.

One Warg, a rather small and slim one, quickly caught up with the older Dwarf but before it could bury its teeth in Fíli’s leg, the Dwarf brought his battle hammer down on the animal, not slowing down at all. The Warg yowled and fell behind. Fíli knew that he couldn’t keep this up for too long, feeling a stitch coming up and breathing became harder and harder but he focused on the way before him. 

He slipped through a narrow gap between two bigger rocks just in time before another Warg could snap at his back, causing the great animal to get stuck in the crack. It didn’t stop the rest of them though, easily jumping over the barrier and following the Dwarf. 

“What do you see?” Thorin shouted to Nori who stood on a larger rock, looking out for the youngsters. 

“They’re on their way back!” Nori yelled, his eyes suddenly growing wide as he spotted the pack of Wargs on their heels. “And they’re bringing the party with them!” 

“They are doing what?!” Dwalin bellowed, already drawing his battle axes just as everyone else got ready for a fight. 

“Fools”, Thorin breathed and Dáin grinned right next to him.

“Maybe”, he said, drawing his own massive axe, its blade nearly as large as the Hobbit. “Now let’s get the vanguard out of the way, shall we?”

Thorin still did not seem happy but nonetheless prepared for battle, Orcrist firmly in his grip. Kíli was the first to arrive, crashing through the barrier of armed dwarves, Fíli following close by. 

Only a second later, the Wargs dashed into the little group, greeted by axes, battle hammers and swords. Thorin slammed Orcrist’s blade deep into the throat of one, Dáin buried his axe in another ones skull and Dwalin’s axes split the spine of another. Even the youngsters did not hesitate for a second and soon Fíli’s bronze battle hammer swung around, breaking jaws and bones, while Kíli’s sword tore through flesh and muscles. 

It was a morbid sight. One beast after the other fell under the Dwarven weapons and the warriors of the Iron Hills didn’t even leave them any time to cry out for they were swift and without mercy. Dáin alone killed four of them and didn’t seem to slow down at all, once again mesmerizing Kíli, who tried his best to keep up.  
In between the turmoil stood the small Hobbit. He kept close to Fíli and regarded it as his task, to kill the Wargs that Fíli had brought down with his battle hammer. Mercy killings, he called it later, though it was probably true bravery that drove Bilbo on. 

Not long and most Wargs lay dead or gravely wounded, their blood drenching the grassland in the morning sun. The Dwarves already expected victory, some taking a deep breath, leaning heavily on their weapons, when a low snarling distracted them. Three more Wargs appeared on a large ledge to their right. One was a muscular grey one, unusually pretty for a Warg, yet baring its fangs. The second one was almost of a beige colour, very pale but agile and slim and when Thorin recognised the third one, his features turned grim and hatred was plastered across his face, for the third one was the light brown beast, that had stolen the key from him down at the Old Forest.

The Warg snarled at him, smirking down and Thorin steadied his foothold, sword in hands. 

“Go on to the gates!” he bellowed at the Dwarven warriors behind him. “Break them in, only few stay behind with me and we will follow as soon as those monstrosities are dead!” 

Under Dwalin’s lead, the warriors rushed onwards without any hesitation, leaving piles of dead Wargs behind. The ones staying with Thorin were Dáin, Fíli and Kíli.

“Now that’s nice”, Dáin muttered. “Like a family holiday.”

“The brown beast is mine”, Thorin growled.

Just as Fíli drew his swords and Dáin swung his axe, the light brown Warg pushed off the ledge and hurled itself at Thorin.


	18. Chapter 18

A horrible screech echoed across the grassland when the fangs of the large grey Warg crashed down onto the red blade of Dáin’s axe. Even though the Dwarf dug his heels into the ground, the great beast actually managed to push him across the grass for a few yards. He slashed his blade to the side, cutting deep into the Warg’s cheeks, leaving it howling and snarling. 

The slender beige animal was fast and cunning, going right for Fíli’s throat, the older brother already weary of Wargs and their fangs. He heard the snapping and nearly toppled over, when Kíli’s blade crashed down onto the beasts shoulders right in front of his nose. The animal spun around, snapping at Kíli who quickly dodged it and took a few steps back, distracting it well enough that Fíli could sink his sword into the Warg’s flank.

Thorin’s blade crashed down onto the body of the brown Warg again and again and this time, his blows were so fierce and forceful, that they cut through the wiry fur like a knife through butter. Bleeding heavily, the animal got more and more furious, snapping at the Dwarf and trying to get to the blade to yank it from him but Thorin stood his ground. 

“You won’t defeat me again”, he growled, Orcrist pointed at the snarling Warg. “And you will pay for what you did!”

He knew that the beast understood his words, for it flattened its ears, baring its fangs in a horrible fashion. It glanced at it’s companions and when it saw the beige Warg tackling Fíli, causing him to fall and lose his weapons, it turned back to Thorin, something like a malicious grin on it’s disgusting face. 

Fíli fell flat on his back, the battle hammer pressing into his spine and his swords gone. Before he could even take a breath, the Warg hovered above him, pressing him down with one large paw on his chest. Fíli quickly grabbed one of his throwing knives from his sleeve, cutting deep into the animal’s nose and a strike from Kíli’s blade did the rest to force the howling beast off the older brother. He was quickly on his feet again, drawing the large hammer. 

The animal turned to Kíli, biting and snapping, trying to get to the youngster’s throat but to no avail. The Dwarf was quick and agile, dodging the monstrous jaws again and again. When he saw an opening, he swiftly swung his blade, ramming it into the animal’s throat. The thick fur however, as well as the muscular flesh quickly had the blade stuck and the furious beast began to snap violently at the Dwarf, not even on the verge of death yet. 

Panic spread on his features, for his blade was stuck and the beast had gone into a murderous frenzy. It was then, that Fíli’s battle hammer crashed down onto the Warg’s neck with such a force, that the blade of Kíli’s sword cut clean through flesh and bones and met the bronze hammer with a deafening clangour. The beast’s head rolled across the grassland and the boys stood side by side, breathing heavily.

Enraged by the death of its comrade, the light brown Warg went straight for Thorin again, not caring about the countless cuts and bleeding wounds that already plastered it’s body. Trying to tackle Thorin, it took a running start, sprinting towards the dwarf with wide-open jaws and this was how it’s life ended. For Thorin thrust the point of his sword right into the open fangs of the beast until it appeared again at the back of its head. The large Warg stumbled, groaning and choking until it dropped dead at the feet of the king. 

Meanwhile Dáin had battered his opponent badly, the once beautiful grey animal bleeding heavily already, the fur stained in red. He slammed the flat side of his axe right into the Warg’s face, using the short moment of disorientation to bring the blade down, splitting the beast’s skull in two. The Warg stumbled to the ground, still twitching for a while before it lay dead.

The four Dwarves looked at the bodies, all of them still trying to catch their breath. The Wargs of Gundabad were defeated. At least the few that stood guard over the Orc fortress in the mountain, for Dáin and Thorin were aware that the territory of those cursed wolves lay beyond the mountain, towards the Kingdom of Angmar. 

“There will be more of those”, Dáin muttered.

“Yes, but they’re not here yet. We have to get going”, Thorin agreed, giving his nephews an approving nod.

They sprinted off towards the gates of Mount Gundabad, leaving the dead animals behind.

The Dwarves under Dwalin’s lead quickly had to learn that trying to break the gate in wouldn’t work. A thick wooden beam bolted the gate from the inside and no matter how hard they pushed and shoved and threw themselves against the gates, the wood did not move an inch. Thus they resolved to Dwalin’s preferred method of solving problems. They used brute strength, breaking the wooden door down with axes and hammers. 

When Thorin and the others arrived at the gate, a large hole already gaped in the gate, baring the beam that held the doors in place. Dáin wiped the blood of his blade and stepped forward. He glanced at Dwalin and noticed the bandage under his vest that was already stained red with blood.

“Still able to fight, old friend?”

“What do you think?” Dwalin grumbled.

“Then give me a hand here, will you?” Dáin smirked.

The remaining Dwarves took a few steps back. Dáin and Dwalin were both tall for Dwarves and exceptionally strong and they were both feared by their enemies, for when they fought together in battle, not a stone was left standing. They had cleared battlefields before like hurricanes, the Orcs of Moria calling them demons and Fíli and Kíli stared in awe when those two legendary warriors stood side by side.

They both raised their axes above their heads and when the blades thundered down, the beam burst and cracked into splinters until it broke in half. They pushed the gate open, already anticipating a horde of Orcs coming right at them but nothing happened. The mountain lay quiet.

Dáin was the first to enter the mountain, closely followed by Dwalin and Thorin. The stepped into utter darkness and Thorin ordered some of them to light up torches. Once the flames lit up the mountain, the Dwarves stood speechless.

Before them lay a large Hall built beautifully into the mountain. Massive pillars supported the ceiling; Dwarven runes were carved into the black stone. The solid floor glistened in the dim light of the torches. Dust had settled in every crack and chink but this place once had been beautiful and glorious and nobody would have dared to say otherwise. 

Kíli stood with his mouth open, staring up at the high ceiling that entirely disappeared in the darkness and Fíli did not even dare to breathe. Even Thorin seemed mesmerized and the ever criticising Dáin could not mutter a single word.

Bilbo looked from one Dwarf to the next, utterly puzzled. To him, this place was just another mountain fortress, as he did not know the history of Mount Gundabad. He carefully tucked at Fíli’s jerkin, not sure himself whether he was pressing the youngster to go or actually wanting to ask a question. 

“What’s wrong?” he finally whispered quietly. “I- I mean, I don’t want to disturb the moment but we might want to hurry a little.”

“We will”, Fíli muttered, still looking at the pillars. 

“Why won’t the little prince explain to the Halfling why this place is important to us while we move on?” Dáin growled, obviously displeased that Bilbo had joined their company in the first place. He hadn’t told Thorin but he believed that a Halfling from the Shire had nothing to do in a company of Dwarves. He marched off, his armour clanging in the dark, closely followed by his warriors.

Bilbo felt uneasy but to his surprise, it was Thorin who gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything but nodded approvingly, recognising Bilbo as a member of this company and accepting him as such. 

The Hobbit fell behind, Fíli and Kíli to each side and they followed the rest of the Dwarves with a little distance. Only Gandalf kept near the youngsters in case they got lost.

“Mount Gundabad is deeply rooted in the history of our kin”, Fíli began quietly, still looking around as they wandered amongst the pillars. “The legend says that Durin the Deathless himself awoke here. He was the eldest of the seven Fathers of the Dwarves and though he never claimed the mountain as his righteous home, he declared this place sacred and it served as a meeting place for the Dwarven Lords. At least until the Orcs of Angmar came and claimed Mount Gundabad as their realm.”

Bilbo noticed Fíli’s features growing dark and even his brother remained silent, for Dwarven pride was easily blemished and no living Dwarf would ever forgive the Orcs for this outrage.

“During the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs, the Dwarves believed to have cleared the mountain from the remaining Orcs but apparently they were wrong. The Orcs began to repopulate Mount Gundabad and now it is once again their capital.” 

Gandalf chuckled quietly a few feet ahead. 

“You think that’s funny?” Kíli chuntered.

“No, young Master Dwarf, not at all”, the wizard answered bemused. “I am merely wondering when your brother will admit to his intelligence and stop the pranks and baublery.”

Fíli blushed at little and even Bilbo smirked, for he had seen Fíli’s mature side, as well as his leadership skills and was yet still amazed by his sometimes childish attire. 

“Not until he mounts the throne I guess”, Kíli grinned, nudging his brother in the ribs. 

They ventured on in silence; the young Dwarves still mesmerized by the sheer beauty of this place though Bilbo found none of that. A Hobbit did not belong underground and he began to feel rather claustrophobic. He was made for the green meadows and the clear blue sky of the Shire and he already missed the warm sunlight. Fíli and Kíli however swelled in this place and for the first time since they left the Ered Luin, they felt like they were moving on familiar territory again. 

‘Gandalf was probably right’, Bilbo thought to himself, as he watched the youngsters. Those were their halls and they would defend their realm with Dwarven ferocity.

The steps of the Dwarves were light and swift as they scurried between the pillars, some venturing out to the sides. They encountered the first Orcs many yards into the hall, all of them sleeping tightly and they murdered Bolg’s kin in their sleep, silently slitting their throats, one after the other.

Bilbo watched bewildered, witnessed the daggers glowing red in the dim light, as he had never seen such quick and quiet killing before. 

They came like a silent, red flood over the mountain, Dáin and Thorin at the tip of the warriors and they left nothing but death, dozens of Orcs lying in their own blood still seemingly asleep though none of them breathed anymore. A quiet plague with glistening blades and a dreadful wish for revenge.

Even the youngsters disappeared into the ramified halls and tunnels of the mountain, slaughtering every sleeping soul they found and Bilbo doubted for a moment, that those really were the cheerful boys he had encountered weeks ago. Gandalf stood silently by Bilbo’s side, watching unfazed. 

“This is terrifying”, the Hobbit whispered.

“It is”, Gandalf agreed. “But it lies in the Dwarven nature. They may be formidable and loving friends and companions but each of them has a heart of stone if necessary. If you believed that the Elves were unforgiving, you have never encountered Dwarven grudge. No other folk is as merciless towards those who did it wrong, as the Dwarves are.”

And Bilbo witnessed the Dwarven grudge first hand that day. 

When Fíli and Kíli returned to him, their clothes, hands and even faces were stained with black blood, an unknown flame burning in their eyes. They reminded the Hobbit of the Wargs outside; once they had tasted blood they craved for more. Justice for their people, that’s what the Dwarves were after. As if the key had already been forgotten and was just a prize on the way.

Soon no Orc within the great hall was alive anymore and the Dwarves hurried on. The further they journeyed on into the mountain, the more anxious Thorin became.

“That was too easy”, he muttered under his breath.

“Aye, there’s more to come”, Dáin agreed, running by his cousin’s side. “There should be hundreds of Orcs in this mountain, I wonder where they are hiding.”

None of them had ever entered Mount Gundabad before. The sacred halls were not to be seen by anybody but the Dwarf lords and ever since the Orcs had settled within the mountain, no Dwarf had dared to enter. They thus did not know of the depth of those halls and tunnels and although they knew that they were venturing deeper and deeper below the ground, they had no idea as to where they were actually going. Thorin only had one thing in mind. To find Bolg and reclaim the key.

Their surroundings slowly changed. The clean, smooth walls of the hall turned into uneven, black stone blemished with cracks and hollows, the ground turned rocky and rugged and dust and dirt had settled in every single corner. They were now deep inside the mountain and had already left Durin’s Halls way behind them. A vile stench lay in the air, death, decay and blood mixed with the brute scent of Orcs and Bilbo wrinkled his nose. Thorin slowed the company down, lifting a finger to his lips for they had now entered the realm of the Orcs of Gundabad. 

Before them lay another large gate, no sound came from the other side. Thorin exchanged a quick glance with Dáin, who, if he ever felt uneasy, still looked utterly calm and carefree. It seemed as if nothing fazed the battle-scarred warrior anymore and Kíli couldn’t help but admire him more and more with every passing minute. Dáin nodded slowly, grabbing one of the handles while Thorin grabbed the other. Bilbo glimpsed down at his side and noticed Sting’s blade burning blue but before he could even open his mouth, it was too late.

As they pulled the gate open, the first two lines of Dáin’s warriors immediately dropped dead, met by spears and arrows and right in that moment, an Orcish ambush barged through the gate and straight into the dwarves.


	19. Chapter 19

Blades cannonaded down on the Dwarves, swords, spears and scimitars alike, trying to cut through Dwarven flesh and wipe out the brave warriors. Dáin’s Dwarves stood their ground though, chopping and pounding, driving the Orcs back into the dark caverns beyond the gate. 

Before them unfolded another great hall but this time it wasn’t of Dwarven make. It was no more than an ordinary cave, beat from stone and rock, dug by the unskilled hands of Orcs. Torches burned at the sides, illuminating the hall and revealing gruesome carvings and paintings on the black walls. Battle scenes of Azanulbizar, the beheaded King Thrór and a victorious Azog, his painted body gleaming white in the dim light of the hall. It almost seemed like the Dwarves stepped into a temple. A temple once built by mad creatures, hailing a long lost white King. For the Orcs of the North were nothing like their whipped kin from the South, cowering behind the great black gates of Mordor. The Orcs of Gundabad were fierce and proud and didn’t answer to anyone but the great warlord Bolg, Azog’s son.

Blades crashed onto blades as the Dwarves fought their way deeper and deeper into the hall. Dáin’s red battle-axe split many skulls, chopping his opponents into pieces as he reeled across the hall like a deadly hurricane. Orcrist slayed one Orc after the other, cutting through skin and flesh but Thorin seemed somewhat distracted.

He was looking for Bolg, the only opponent that mattered to him in this moment. The warlord was nowhere to be seen however and Thorin wondered if he was a coward, unlike his father, hiding behind his army of Orcs.

The youngsters quickly found themselves at the other end of the hall, not exactly sure how they got there but they were given no time to wonder about it. While Kíli took out one Orc after the other with his bow and arrows, shooting them down mercilessly, Fíli remained by his side, taking on any opponent that came too close to his brother. 

Fíli just blocked one blow of an Orcish blade with one sword, slicing the other across the Orc’s chest, when he noticed the Hobbit nearby. In the past days Bilbo had learned that he was safe with the brothers, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He was fighting his own battles bravely, actually impressing Fíli. Sting’s blue blade shone bright in the dark hall.

The Hobbit stood his ground, defending himself as well as he could, but Orcs are unfortunately much bigger than Hobbits and Bolg’s Orcs were of an abnormally brutal breed, thus Bilbo’s opponent mercilessly brought his blade down on him. The Halfling struggled, staggering back through the darkness of the hall and just when Fíli was about to hurry to his aid, Bilbo suddenly disappeared. 

Grabbing his brother by the sleeve, Fíli rushed over to the spot where Bilbo had just been fighting a minute ago, slaying the Orc that had cornered the Hobbit and when they looked around, they spotted a hole in the ground. 

“Stairs!” Kíli exclaimed, while Fíli fought off two more attacking Orcs. “Bilbo! Bilbo, are you down there?”

“I- I’m fine”, came a squeaky voice from below. 

“Thank Mahal”, Fíli breathed and followed his brother down the stairs, unseen by the fighting armies.

They found the Hobbit at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his head. 

“How did you find this?” Kíli asked, looking around.

“I don’t know, it was just- there”, Bilbo replied, a little grumpy since he had in no way intended this crash. 

Before them lay a dark tunnel, narrow and pitch black. The air was thick and reeked of death and mould and breathing was difficult, even for the Dwarves who were used to being underground. 

“What is this place?” Fíli whispered. 

“We should find out”, Kíli replied and off he went, down the dark tunnel. Fíli and Bilbo followed close by, Stings blade glowing in the dark like a torch. 

They staggered through the darkness, supporting themselves on the sharp, black walls of the tunnel and though they had their weapons drawn, anticipating an Orc attack any minute, nothing happened. Bilbo didn’t know for how long they followed the tunnel but he felt the way going deeper and deeper down into the mountain, for the further they went, the more foul the air became and the temperatures rose to a point that had the Hobbit sweating in his thick vest and coat.

“We’d better turn back”, he muttered, not at all happy with the situation.

“We’ve come so far, we might as well see what’s at the end of the tunnel”, Kíli remarked, still leading the little group.

“If it ever ends at all”, the Hobbit chuntered, although he did feel safe, walking between the brothers. 

They walked in silence for a while until Kíli suddenly stopped, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Shhh, can you hear that?”

They listened into the darkness and after a while a deep thumping sound wavered towards them. The sound became louder and louder, the further they went down the tunnel and after a few yards, they figured out what it was.

“Drums”, Kíli muttered surprised. “Those are drums.”

“But no war drums”, Fíli pondered. “Sounds like someone is playing a melody down here.”

“If that’s supposed to be music I don’t think I want to know who’s making it”, the Hobbit whimpered, for the melody of the drums sounded cruel and vicious and the deep and dark tone vibrated through the bones of the Hobbit, making his stomach churn. 

A light flickered in some distance and when they stepped around a corner, they froze on the spot. 

Their gaze fell on a large hall, bigger than the ones they had seen before. It was ablaze with torchlight, the drums pounding heavily, making the ground shake. Above a large fire roasted a wild boar, the walls were painted with the gruesome images of dead Dwarves piled above each other and the countless cracks and plateaus, reaching high up, were swarming with Orcs. The foul creatures were feasting and singing, drinking a sort of black liquor with a horrible stench, they chatted, yelled and laughed and the two Dwarves and the hobbit couldn’t believe what they saw.

“Get down!” Fíli suddenly hissed, pulling his companions behind a large rock. “Look! Over there!”

A few yards away from them, the ground of the hall dropped into an abyss and a narrow, stony bridge led to a plateau a little above their heads. On that plateau stood a throne carved from black rocks and decorated with bones and skulls. The Hobbit swallowed hard at the sight for he had never seen something as nasty as this. 

On the throne sat a very large, pale Orc. He was horribly disfigured and must have suffered badly during battle, for parts of his skull and face were held in place by dark metal plates, burned into his skin and drilled into his bones. He was scarred and deep cuts in his arms and legs created a morbid form of tattoo on the pale skin, Orcish runes and brandings of old, dark curses. His armour was made from black leather, metal and bones. He had dyed his once sandy mane and beard red with the blood of his enemies and his ice blue eyes stared across the celebrating Orcs like terrifying zircons.

“That’s him”, Fíli whispered, fear drawn across his face. “That’s Bolg, Azog’s son.”

“Are they celebrating?” Kíli asked, pulling a face. Fíli merely shrugged. 

An Orc handed a large cup to Bolg, a steaming, black liquid in it. 

“What’s that?” Bilbo whispered.

The warlord took a good gulp, his lips and fangs stained red as he put the cup down again and the eyes of the Dwarves widened in shock and disgust.

“That’s- blood”, Fíli stammered. “He’s drinking blood.”

The Hobbit suddenly felt sick to his stomach, not quite sure whether he needed to vomit or not. He had firmly believed that the Goblin King had been vile but seeing the Orc warlord up on his throne, celebrating and drinking blood while his kin was fighting only a few yards above their heads left Bilbo speechless and utterly disgusted. 

The blood was boiling in a huge black kettle by the roasting boar, the Orcs mixing it with some form of grog or other strong alcohol and a sickening stench came from the kettle, that the Dwarves felt their stomachs turn.

Kíli suddenly spotted something by the side of Bolg’s throne. Without saying a word, he scurried over to another rock closer to the plateau.

“Kíli!” his brother hissed. “What are you doing?! Come back here!”

“There!” the younger replied. “Can you see that?”

Bolg’s weapon leaned against the side of the throne. It was a nasty mix of a war hammer and a mace, pointy spikes drilled into the long shaft, eked out with blades to the sides and Fíli was certain that one blow with that thing would be enough to split a Dwarf in half. 

“Yes, a mace, come back now!”

“No, there’s something dangling from it!”

Fíli squinted his eyes, and then gasped in surprise. Hanging from the mace was the key to Erebor, still attached to the thin chain that Thorin had around his neck. Bolg had tied it around his weapon like a lucky charm, possibly intending to present it to Thorin like that. To let the King see it while Bolg clubbed his skull with his mace.

Kíli returned to Bilbo and his brother, quickly and quietly and unnoticed by the Orcs, who were feasting and laughing.

“We must get that key back”, he muttered.

“Sure, what do you wanna do? Go up to him and ask nicely?” Fíli replied dryly, earning himself a nudge in the ribs. 

“Take it back by force if we must.”

“You and I and the hobbit against at least 50 Orcs, one of them being an infamous warlord. That sounds like it would work.”

“Well then you tell us what to do, smartass!”

“We’ll go back now”, Fíli began, his brother rolling his eyes already. “We’ll go back and tell Thorin that Bolg is down here and that he has the key and then they’ll come down with our army and we’re sorted.”

“I- I could get the key”, the suddenly heard a thin voice coming from their midst. They glimpsed down, both surprised to find Bilbo with an unusual determination on his features. 

“You?” Kíli asked.

“Not a chance”, Fíli stated. “We won’t let you march in there now.”

Bilbo’s eyes followed the path across the hall and up to the plateau. Only a few yards, not too many little Hobbit steps and he could make it. He would simply have to untie the key from Bolg’s weapon but that would require the Orc to remain still and not pick the mace up. 

“I could make it”, he muttered rather to himself. “It just takes a distraction. A diversion of some sort.”

Kíli glanced over to his brother.

“Are you sure Master Baggins?” he asked, an idea forming in his head and Fíli knew it without even asking.

“Yes”, Bilbo replied slowly, his gaze still fixed on the mace with the dangling key. 

“Maybe he’s more of a burglar than we knew”, Kíli suggested. 

“Maybe”, his brother agreed. 

“He just needs to stay where he is. And so does his weapon”, the Hobbit was still muttering to himself, but the brothers picked up on it quickly. 

It was Kíli who got up from his spot first, followed closely by his brother. They left their hideout between the rocks and marched across the last few yards of the tunnel, their chests swelled with the pride of their kin and not a sign of fear on their features. While they walked, they drew their swords, gripping them firmly. 

“What are you-“, Bilbo blinked irritated but it was too late for the youngsters were long gone and the Hobbit just stared at their backs in shock. 

They stepped into the hall, not bothering much with the feasting and howling Orcs and they both knew that his could be over within a split second. Only one stroke with a blade, one arrow, one blow with a hammer and they were gone but at least they would leave this world together, side by side. 

The Orcs didn’t even notice the Dwarves amongst them at first, drinking and singing vile battle songs. Until Fíli’s voice thundered across the hall, loud and clear.

“BOLG OF THE NORTH! THE DWARVES OF EREBOR HAVE COME TO CLAIM YOUR HEAD!”


	20. Chapter 20

A sudden silence fell over the mountain.

Many nasty Orc faces turned towards the two young Dwarves and the little Hobbit believed he would faint behind his rock. Bolg sat startled, staring at the Dwarves, before a malicious glint appeared in the icy blue of his eyes. 

It only took a second before at least a dozen Orcs had circled them, one already raising a large axe above his head to bring it down on Fíli’s neck, when he suddenly had Kíli’s blade at his throat.

“Touch one of us and I will cut your nasty face off”, the youngest growled. 

It was only by Bolg’s order though, that the Orcs retreated a little, for the pale Orc had raised his hand in a discarding gesture. He glanced down at the Dwarves, a strange mixture of curiosity and sheer bloodlust in his eyes. 

“The Dwarves of Erebor”, he snarled, his voice deep and hoarse. “Last time I encountered your kin, you were the Dwarves with no Home!”

“Erebor is our righteous home and we will reclaim it!” Fíli answered, pointing his sword at the Orc warlord. “And we will take your head along the way!”

“Will you now?” Bolg asked curiously.

The Orcs chuckled and grinned maliciously. 

“And you believe you can do that by storming in here with only two Dwarves, while the rest of you is fighting above?”

Kíli and Fíli stared at Bolg, completely taken aback. They hadn’t believed he was aware of the fighting going on above, for he surely would’ve joined the battle like any warlord and leader would.

“You knew we were here all along”, Kíli realised.

Bolg roared with laughter, the other Orcs joining in.

“I was waiting for you!” he thundered across the hall. “Ever since that key came to me I knew you would follow sooner or later! And here you are!” Bolg spread his arms in a mockingly welcoming gesture. 

The youngsters stood speechless for they had believed that the Dwarves had taken the Orcs by surprise. Now learning that Bolg had known of their coming all along made them feel incredibly stupid and small.

“And you even brought another guest I didn’t anticipate”, the pale Orc grinned, obviously referring to Dáin, the Dwarf who had killed his father. 

Anger suddenly flashed across Kíli’s face, a silent rage that even scared his brother for he had never seen the younger Dwarf like this. 

“You mean to tell us that you know of your dying kin up there and yet you sit here and feast and sing?!” he yelled furiously. 

“Of course”, Bolg chuckled. “I sent them up there. They gladly sacrifice themselves for the greater cause!”

“And what is the greater cause?” Fíli growled.

“To end the Line of Durin!” 

While the youngsters felt their knees grow weak, nobody noticed the small Hobbit. Bilbo had looked at the scenery with sheer terror and it took him a long while until he was able to move. For the first time though, he did not fear for his own life. He feared for the lives of the boys who had trusted him enough to risk everything. He could not disappoint them now. He fumbled around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. 

The ring glided swiftly onto his finger and the Hobbit disappeared entirely. 

He left his save spot by the rocks and sneaked across the hall, towards the stone bridge that led to Bolg’s throne, invisible to everyone including the young Dwarves, who still stared at the warlord, not a sound coming from them.

“How do you-“, Fíli began but Bolg cut him off, madness glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t hold me for a fool, for I know who you are! Fíli and Kíli, sons of Dís, daughter of Thráin!” he bellowed.

The Dwarves grew pale. 

“You show the same arrogant nature like the rest of your kin! And you shall pay for that pride like the rest of your kin! Your dead bodies shall be the next to decorate my halls and your heads shall be thrown at the feet of your loved ones until they go mad with grief like your grandfather did!” 

Bilbo quickly made his way across the hall, careful not to bump into anybody. He passed by the Dwarves unseen and stepped onto the narrow stony bridge that led to Bolg’s throne. There he waited for a few seconds, assuring himself that he hadn’t been seen, before he began to fumble with the chain hanging from the maze.

The warlord’s horrid stench stung in his nose, as the Orc reeked of damp copper. The terrible smell of blood that hung like a cloud above his head. 

‘You can do it’, Bilbo reminded himself over and over again. ‘You have no choice. Those boys are risking their lives for you, you have to do it!’

Fíli wasn’t sure what had driven them in the end. Be it recklessness, hurt pride, bravery, stupidity, he couldn’t recall but he remembered a vague feeling of hate. For when he and his brother charged into the surrounding Orcs, weapons drawn and filled with murderous intent, they didn’t remember the happy days in the Ered Luin anymore. Nothing seemed left of the carefree boys. They were young princes, fighting for their long lost kingdom and the restoration of the family’s honour. 

And the Orcs tasted that hate with every single stroke of a blade. 

Bilbo snatched the key off Bolg’s weapon just in time and hurried back across the bridge. He heard his own heart pumping in his ears and fear crept over him like a black shadow in the night, for he was afraid of getting into the fight. 

He dodged the blades flying around him and got close to Kíli at one point. One look at the youngsters face and Bilbo felt his heart leap and his head spin, for the features of the Dwarf were grim and determined, his skin already drenched in black Orc blood. Bilbo wasn’t sure what to fear; the Orcs or the wrath of the young Dwarves.

Kíli’s blade cut clean through the nasty armour of the Orcs, made of leather and bones and every time the blade hit, the bones cracked and burst, injuring the Orcs even further. They were all bigger than him but bloodlust and a sheer suicidal recklessness had taken over, leaving no place for fear. Black blood was running down the fuller of his sword and dripping onto his gloves.

Fíli had meanwhile already scared a great deal of his opponents away. His swords were glistening black in the torchlight of the cave, casting terrifying shadows on the walls for they were as large and sharp as butcher’s knives and used with the same force and efficiency. The Dwarf, however young he was, knew how to fight and had soon proven it to the surrounding Orcs, for his swords were not only sharp, but also peppered with two hooks at the tip of the blades. 

Every time the young prince struck out, he buried one of the hooks deeply into his opponents flesh, pulling him close and cutting his throat with the other blade. None got away and by the time that Bilbo arrived at his rock again, the brothers had already killed a dozen Orcs with ease. 

Bolg still sat on his throne, watching the scenario before him. 

Being curious at first, he had gladly sacrificed his kin to this fight, for he intended to learn more about those two young Dwarves of Durin’s line. After a while though, boredom struck and he rose from his throne.

 

“ENOUGH!” he thundered through the cave. “CAPTURE THEM!”

“No”, Bilbo whispered in terror, when suddenly a group of particularly large Orcs appeared, equipped with long whips and scimitars. 

The first whip cracked through the air and wrapped around Kíli’s wrist. The Orc pulled tight, forcing the fighting youngster to drop his sword, for no blood was pumped into his fingers any longer. Kíli pulled and struggled but to no avail. Before he could even think about unfastening the whip, another crack echoed through the hall and his other wrist was caught as well.

Fíli managed to drive two more Orcs over the edge of the Hall and down into the black abyss below their feet, before black whips caught his wrists as well. 

He watched in terror, as Bolg picked his weapon up and began to descend from his plateau. For Bilbo wasn’t aware of a certain detail: not only had the Orcs not seen him, he had of course also been invisible for the Dwarves, who had no idea that the key was already safe in the pocket of his coat. 

While Kíli was forced on his knees, Fíli frantically looked around for the Hobbit and glanced at the rocks just in time, as Bilbo slipped the ring off his fingers, fright and panic on his features. He stared at Fíli, stared at the blood stained face and blond mane and, though with the best intention, turned on his heels and ran. 

He planned to run back up and inform Thorin of the happenings, call upon him for help but Fíli knew nothing of those plans. Already fuelled with hate, his mind gone blank in a frenzy, he believed the Hobbit was running away in fright, abandoning them. 

“TRAITOR!” he hatefully bellowed after the Hobbit, before he was forced on his knees himself. 

The word rung in poor Bilbo’s ears and hit him, as if he himself was pounded with whips as well. He had only meant to do good. Always. And he had begun to like those boys a lot, thus having this hurtful word hurled at him cut deep into his guts and he swallowed hard. 

When he arrived at the end of the stairs again, the fighting above had already ceased. The ground was littered with bodies, Orcs and Dwarves alike and some were still fighting. Dáin, though pretty cut up and bleeding himself, sunk his blade into his opponents spine and Thorin beheaded another, his face bloody and dirty. 

As Bilbo rushed towards him, he was so deeply buried in his hatred that he nearly attacked the Hobbit, mistaking him for a Goblin of some sort but Bilbo spoke up before Thorin could strike out.

“The boys!” the Hobbit yelled, causing Thorin to snap back into reality. 

“Bilbo”, he muttered, his mind still blurred. “Where have you been?”

“The boys are in a cave down below! There’s a tunnel! Bolg is down there!”

Thorin suddenly grew very pale. He hadn’t even noticed his nephews slipping away during the fight, way too captured in taking revenge on those dreadful creatures that now lay dead at his feet. Had he known in what danger the youngsters were, he surely wouldn’t have wasted his time trying to kill insignificant underlings of the warlord that lingered down below. 

“We have to get down there. Now. DÁIN!” he yelled. “DÁIN, GATHER YOUR MEN! WE’RE GOING FURTHER DOWN!”

“What’s with the remaining Orcs up here?”, Dori muttered, standing close to Bilbo. The Hobbit stared in shock when he noticed his blood drenched clothes and the fierce look on the usually so gentle and kind features of the Dwarf. His sword was slippery and black from Orc blood and once again Bilbo felt terrified for he recognised none of them anymore. 

“I’ll take care of’em”, Dwalin’s voice thundered from behind the Hobbit and when the warrior appeared from the dark, the Hobbit nearly had a heart attack. In the dim light of the hall, Dwalin seemed black from head to toe, his blue eyes glistening dangerously under his thick brows and his battle hammer dripped with blood.

“Can you manage?” Thorin asked.

“You think me weak?” Dwalin chuntered. “Go on, I can handle it.”

Thorin nodded at his oldest friend, pure gratefulness in his gaze before he turned and followed Bilbo towards the stairs that led down to Bolg’s lair. They were closely followed by Dáin and the remaining Dwarves and Dwalin positioned himself by the stairs to make sure no other Orc could follow them down.

In the hall below, Bolg had crossed the bridge and stood right in front of the Dwarves, maliciously grinning down at them, the mace clutched in his large hands. 

“Not so confident now anymore, are we?” he snarled, looking at Kíli who simply spit out at his feet. 

The warlord bared his fangs, small and pointy and still covered in blood. The youngsters stared up at him, utter hate and disgust shown on their features, but no sign of fear. And Bolg seemed to dislike that brave nature of the Dwarves, for he snarled at them and wrinkled his scarred nose.

“I think you’ve been cheeky long enough. Wonder how your uncle up there might like the sight of your abused and disfigured bodies, should he ever find you down here.”

The Orcs around them were roaring and howling with laughter and Bolg, confident as he was, turned to his warriors and laughed with them, enjoying this way too much. For he had waited for this moment his entire life. The chance to finally avenge his father in the most gruesome way. He lifted his mace in the air, striking out, the spikes glistening in the torchlight.

It was in this moment of carelessness, that Fíli gathered all his strength and snapped the whips holding him from the hands of his guards. He violently crashed the handle of one whip into the face of the Orc, breaking his cheeks and jaw, the other handle wrapped around the neck of the other Orc and as he pulled he broke his neck. 

When Bolg’s mace thundered down on the youngsters, it hit the crossed blades of Fíli’s swords so loud, that the clangour echoed back into the tunnel and sparks flew from the black steel. The Dwarf felt himself being pressed into the stony ground but he did not flinch. 

Taken by surprise, Bolg needed a moment to gather himself and in that time, Kíli had mimicked his brother, ripping one wrist free and immediately killing one Orc with one blow of his blade that he had picked up again. The other Orc was choked by the whip wrapped around his neck, going down gargling and gagging. 

There they stood, back to back, Fíli’s blades blocking the horrendous weapon of the warlord, while Kíli had his brother’s back, blade in hands and no intention to back down ever. They both knew they’d rather die fighting, than giving in.

“You deem that wise, boy?” the warlord hissed. 

“Maybe not”, Fíli grinned. “But remember this: if I go down, I will take you with me.”


	21. Chapter 21

When Thorin arrived at the hall, guided by the Hobbit who secretly wished he never had to return to this place at all, he stopped so abruptly that Dáin crashed into him, nearly cutting him with his axe. For the sight that unfolded in front of them shocked the King of Thorin’s Halls to the bones and a fear, unknown to him before, crept through his entire body.

By the abyss lay at least two dozen dead Orcs, their bodies cut up badly and the black blood glimmering in the dim torchlight. In their midst stood Kíli, the dark hair plastered to his face, blood and sweat running down his temples and the sword in his hands trembled badly. Not of fear, but of exhaustion for he had been fighting off and killing any Orc that tried to get near his brother. 

Fíli had driven Bolg close to the bridge again, the pale Orc already standing by the abyss, one foot close to the edge but he didn’t seem concerned. His mace mercilessly crashed down onto the Dwarf and Fíli ducked under each blow, slicing and cutting at the thick armour of the Orc. Bolg’s armour however was not as simple and thin as the ones of his kin and although Fíli managed to cut up the outer shell pretty badly, he couldn’t land a single good stroke to Bolg’s body.   
His blades bounced off the white bones and got stuck in the thick leather and Bolg seemed to enjoy to pound the Dwarf, never fully hitting him for he was too small and agile, but ripping his clothes and skin ever now and then, when the pins of his mace came too close. 

Thorin watched in terror, fear freezing him to the spot before he was violently pushed onwards by Dáin.

“Move! Or do you want to watch while your nephew is battered to death?!” his cousin yelled at him. 

Dáin came upon the Orcs like a ruinous flood, the red axe flying through the air, mercilessly cutting and crushing. Close by his side were Bifur and Glóin, fierce and powerful as little hurricanes. 

Thorin didn’t even bother with the Orcs nearby, he immediately rushed towards his nephews but getting to Fíli soon proved to be difficult. Orcs were blocking his way, drawing closer and closer to their fighting master and though Kíli tried his best, he couldn’t fight fatigue and pain much longer. Relief flickered over his face, when suddenly Thorin appeared by his side.

Facing the Orcs coming towards them however kept him from seeing what happened behind his back. 

Bolg had begun to grow tired of the young Dwarf, pounding and fighting to no avail and though he silently admitted to Fíli’s bravery, he had enough of this, for it was no more than a game to him. His true opponent had appeared and for once it was not Thorin.

Ever since the company had invaded the hall, Bolg’s blue eyes, whenever he could spare them, had been fixed on Dáin Ironfoot, the murderer of his father and the wish for vengeance, right here, right now, had grown stronger and stronger within him. 

His mace thundered down upon Fíli, hitting him hard in his already maltreated and bitten side that had not quite healed yet. The Dwarf felt the spikes digging deep into his flesh and he screamed in agony, the force of the blow causing him to lose his weapons. 

Before he could seize his battle hammer however, Bolg had him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. Fíli found himself dangling in the air, his hands clawing on the pale arm of the warlord, leaving deep, bleeding scratches but Bolg seemed unfazed. 

Kíli turned around in that same moment, seeing his brother choking and hanging above the abyss.

“FÍLI!”

He rushed towards Bolg and his brother, when suddenly a loud bang echoed through the cave and the ground began to shake violently. Dáin’s gaze immediately fell on Gandalf, who had drilled his staff into the stony ground.

Bolg lost his foothold and began to stumble, the ground below his feet cracking dangerously. Rifts appeared in the stone, deep cracks and splinters sprung from the black ground, dust trickling down into the deep abyss below. 

When the bridge broke, Bolg quickly took a couple of steps back but, whilst trying to balance on the trembling ground, dropped the Dwarf and Fíli was swallowed the black chasm. 

“NOOOOOO-“, Kílis voice echoed through the hall and he rushed towards the edge of the plateau, closely followed by Thorin. 

When the shaking ceased and the dust began to settle, Bolg stood on the edge of the broken bridge, a large gap separating him from the main hall, the plateau with his throne in his back. Many of his Orcs had fallen into the abyss, many others lay dead on the other side of the chasm but he didn’t seem to care much for his eyes were fixed on the Dwarves of Durin’s line.

Just in time, Kíli and Thorin had each grabbed Fíli, Kíli holding tight onto one of his hands, while Thorin had dug his hands into the fur of his coat and the strap of his scabbard. Together they pulled the youngster up with their last remaining strength and all three of them collapsed as soon as Fíli was on firm ground again.

Bolg bared his fangs, growling deep, his nemesis out of his reach and safely on the other side of the chasm. 

“You’re lucky, Dwarf!” he yelled across the abyss. “But you just wait, for the day will come when we meet each other again!”

Fíli glanced over his shoulder, frustrated and still hateful. 

“Fear that day, for it will be the end of you!” he replied before the pain in his side forbade him to say anymore. 

The battle was won. The fighting was over. 

Though they had not defeated their greatest enemy, they were relieved but beaten at the same time. Many Dwarves of Thorin’s company were injured, more of Dáin’s army slain and dead on the ground. They slowly made it back through the tunnel, believing the worst to be over, their weapons hanging low, dragging their feet across the stony ground.

When they emerged from the stairs and entered the upper hall, shock and terror returned once more however.

A few yards away, sitting by the painted wall, was Dwalin. His axes were buried in the back of a large Orc, his head leaning against the dark wall and his eyes closed. Balin dropped everything on the spot and rushed over to his brother. Only then did he see that red Dwarven blood had mixed with the black blood of the Orcs and realised, that Dwalin’s previous injuries had taken their toll on him. 

“Brother?” Balin’s voice was shaking badly as he clutched Dwalin’s bloody hands. The great warrior opened his eyes, his breathing shallow and rattling. 

Thorin was soon by his other side, kneeling down. 

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t fuss over it”, Dwalin muttered, sounding as bad tempered as usual. “The lads alright?”

“We’re fine”, Kíli said quietly, holding Fíli up, who showed a crooked smile while clutching his bleeding side. 

“That’s good then”, the old warrior smiled behind his thick beard. “Can’t move very well anymore. Maybe in an hour or two.”

“You’ll come with us now, even if it means we have to carry you”, Thorin declared.

Dwalin snorted.

“As if a shiny little king could carry me.” 

“To the end of the world if I must”, Thorin smiled. “Hey, Dwalin? Want to hear a tale?”

“Not one of yours. They suck.”

Everyone grew very quiet, watching the great king and his commander. 

“About 170 years ago, there were two boys that grew up together in Erebor. One was the son of a warrior, a kid way too big for his age and often called a thug. The other one was the son of a king, dressed in velvet and made fun of by the other kid, for he found him pampered and small. Though they were so different from one another, they quickly became close friends. They laughed together, they fought together and together they dreamed of great deeds and battles. One day, those boys snuck out into the catacombs of the great Kingdom to practise sword fighting, for they were not allowed to fight with real blades yet and had to do it in hiding. During their practice, the boy of velvet broke his hand and he sat down on the ground and cried. 

“He said he wasn’t able to fight anymore, because his hand hurt badly and he feared the anger of his father, ready to abandon his dreams of being a great warrior. The thug kid crouched down before him, but instead of soothing him, he hit him hard in the face. ‘As long as Durin breathed, he fought. And only when there was no breath left in his lungs anymore, did he close his eyes and vanished. And the same goes for everyone who has the blood of Durin in him’. And the boy of velvet stopped crying, for he had learned the most valuable lesson of his life that day. Now, is there still a breath in your lungs?”

“Plenty”, Dwalin smiled.

“Then get up old man and come home with us.”

Thorin rose from his spot, reaching out for his oldest friend and Dwalin’s paw-like hand clasped Thorin’s and he got up, leaning heavily on the king. Tears of relief rolled down poor Balin’s cheeks and even Dáin, the tough and great warrior, sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, for Dwalin was one of the few whom Dáin was close to. 

When they left the Halls of Durin, the sun already began to set beyond the mountains but they were in no hurry. The Orcs wouldn’t raid the slopes of Mount Gundabad that night and they could travel back to the fortress unharmed to see to their wounded and pack up their belongings.

Dwalin walked beside Thorin, leaning on his battle hammer to one side and Thorin to the other, while Balin walked beside him. Kíli was still holding onto his brother, who hadn’t said a word and refused to speak to anyone. Even after night had fallen upon them and the fortress appeared in the distance, did Fíli not talk but his brother for once did not nag him about it.

The youngster was disappointed. Not only had he not beaten the warlord and defended his kin with the pride of Durin, like he should have. He also had failed to reclaim the key, for he still did not know that Bilbo had it in his pocket and the Hobbit had already forgotten all about it.

He walked quietly a few yards behind the boys, watching them and Fíli’s painful accusation still rang in his ears like a gong.

_‘Traitor!’_

The Hobbit swallowed hard, plucking up his courage and carefully hurried to Fíli’s side. He didn’t even receive as much as a side glance from the youngster, anger and frustration gnawing at the scratched and bruised features.

“Fíli, I-“, he began but was cut off by Fíli’s unnaturally cold voice, cutting through the air like an icy knife.

“I have nothing to say to you, Hobbit.”

Bilbo’s hopeful gaze fell, for he had never imagined to one day be the victim of Durin’s pride. Kíli looked from his brother to Bilbo and back again, worry and pain drawn on his face. When Bilbo opened his mouth again, Kíli just gently shook his head.

“Don’t try now, Master Baggins. Maybe in a little while.” 

The Hobbit fell behind, slouching his shoulders. He suddenly felt terribly alone. The few Dwarves that had really accepted him into this company were busy amongst themselves, Thorin and Balin worried for Dwalin and the boys, whom he thought were his friends, did not even speak to him anymore. He wished badly to go back to Bag End; he even wished he had never joined this adventure in the first place. 

He thus flinched a little, when someone suddenly wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and when he looked up, he recognised the friendly faces of Ori and Bofur. 

“Don’t worry, lad”, Bofur smiled. “He will come around. Boy’s just lost his first battle, that’s worse than a kick in the balls.”

“He likes you”, Ori reassured the Hobbit. “He’s just frustrated right now. Maybe tomorrow, huh? You’ll be friends again tomorrow, I’m sure.”

And Bilbo smiled a little, wrapping himself in the cloak and walked the rest of the way between Ori and Bofur, who tried to cheer him up with stories and poems and horrible jokes.


	22. Chapter 22

That night none of them found any sleep. 

The ones that had been heavily wounded were tended to and healed by Óin and Gandalf, putting balms and ointments on scratches and wounds, fixing broken bones and washing the blood off many of them. 

Dwalin was bedded by the fire. Óin prepared a herbal drink for him but the old warrior refused to take a single sip. Instead, he drank himself into oblivion on grog and quickly fell into a deep, refreshing sleep, snoring quietly. Balin did not leave his brother’s side even once, staying up and smoking, remembering the years in Erebor and the many battles they had fought side by side.

Bilbo was sitting by the fire with Ori, sipping on tea. He watched Fíli and Kíli from a distance, saw them talking but didn’t understand a word. A nauseous feeling crept upon him. A feeling that they might be talking about him and how they wouldn’t want to speak to him ever again. Though Ori tried his best to cheer him up, the Hobbit felt even smaller than he actually was. 

After a while, the brothers were joined by Thorin, who had washed the blood off his skin. A stern, unpleasant look hung on his troubled features. 

“Tend to that wound”, he ordered. “We will set off in two days, you need to be better by then.”

“It’s all my fault”, Fíli quietly admitted.

“What is?”

“That our quest is lost. I couldn’t take the key back”, the youngster stared at the ground, guilt eating him alive. “If I had been a better fighter, I could have snatched the key from him! I could have killed him and taken it and then we would-“

His words were cut off and every Dwarf looked up when a loud slap echoed through the fortress. 

Fíli blankly stared at Thorin, holding his cheek. Never before had Thorin slapped his nephews. Not once. But now he looked at Fíli, anger and hurt burning in his eyes and he pondered to raise his hand once more but resisted the urge. 

“Be glad I don’t beat you into a pulp like you would deserve!” he thundered at his nephew. “You’re nothing but reckless and stupid and a burden on top of that! You nearly got yourself killed down there, do you even realize?! The key is not lost because you should have been a better fighter, the key is lost because you have acted on your own when you shouldn’t have! I didn’t bring you along so you could die a heroic death in some meaningless battle! In fact, I shouldn’t have brought you two along at all!”

Fílis heart shattered in thousand pieces and Kíli had to fight the tears. 

All they had wanted on this journey was to prove themselves to their uncle. Their great idol that they adored ever since they were children. They had wanted to show their skills and be helpful, see the world and be part of the adventure. Thorin’s words cut deeper than knives and hurt more than the wound on Fíli’s side.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, his voice shaking badly.

“You should be!” Thorin bellowed. “Now get that wound fixed and come back to your senses!”

“What about the key?”

“That’s none of your worry anymore! You’ve had your chance and you failed! Live with that!”

Thorin turned on his heel and left his nephews behind. Kíli swallowed hard and glanced at his brother, whose face had gone blank. Not a single emotion showed on his features and for the first time in his life, Kíli didn’t know how to deal with him.

“He didn’t mean it”, he muttered quietly. “He’ll surely apologize in a bit and-“

“Don’t”, Fíli cut in and turned away towards the other side of the hall. He hobbled on and when Kíli began to follow, he glanced over his shoulder. “Just leave me alone.”

Kíli froze on the spot and watched as his brother disappeared in the darkness of the fortress, leaning onto the wall. The youngster didn’t understand the world anymore. Never before had his brother sent him away. Never before had his uncle slapped one of them or yelled so badly. And never before had he imagined that something so bad could happen to his family. In fact, he felt like his whole world was falling apart. 

He sunk down to the ground by the wall and rested his chin on his knees but no tears fell that night. Kíli felt empty and hollow, not knowing what to think or to believe anymore. Were they no more than a burden to Thorin? Did they ruin everything? He buried his face in the fabric of his trousers, only looking up when he heard someone sitting down next to him.

To his surprise, it was Dáin who settled down, handing him a cup of grog. The great warrior had washed his face and cleaned the bruises and scratches and looked oddly old and tired, the tattoos looking like deep shadows underneath his eyes.

“Don’t mind them, lad”, he began with his deep, husky voice. “They will come by eventually.”

“I’ve never seen them like this”, Kíli admitted quietly.

“Battle changes people. For battle often means death and decay and nobody is safe. Your uncle is worried about you. About losing you. Believe me lad, it is not the key he is mad about, it is his own guilt eating him.”

“Maybe he was right. Maybe we’re no good at fighting and only a burden.”

“You two are extraordinarily skilled fighters”, Dáin smiled. “Wish I had more men like you in my troops. But it is hard for Thorin, to see you grow up in the safety of the Blue Mountains and suddenly you face the world. You’re naïve and young. Your deaths would be a waste. And he is starting to realize that he is putting your lives on the line.”

“But we wanted to come along!”

“I know. And it is right that you did for you probably need those lessons in your lives. Just like your brother needed that lesson today. One Dwarf alone cannot accomplish much. And even though he had you, taking on an Orc warlord on your own was an utterly stupid idea.”

“Durin accomplished a lot alone.”

“But when Durin awoke, he had no enemies, did he? Over the years, the Dwarves have made many enemies but we have grown in number. We’re fighters, all of us. But we fight together. And we grieve together. You better find your brother.”

“He said he wanted me to leave him alone.”

“He didn’t mean it. He just realized that this task will demand him to grow up and that is a terrifying thought sometimes. A thought that he shouldn’t have to deal with alone. Go on, find him.”

Kíli clutched the cup of grog, giving Dáin a small smile of gratitude. He got up and hurried after his brother, the old warrior looking after him and shaking his head. 

Bilbo had watched from a distance and his little heart ached as if someone had pierced it with a dagger. All of this was his fault. He had told the boys that he needed a diversion; he had let them go out there and face that terrible Orc. He had said he could reclaim the key. 

Bilbo’s face suddenly lit up and he shoved his hand in the pocket of his coat to find the key still safely tugged away. He didn’t hesitate for a second as he jumped up from his spot, startling poor little Ori and turned towards Thorin but before he could say a word, a thought crossed his mind. He had to make this right, thus there was only one thing to do.

The Hobbit found the brothers on the same balcony that they had been sitting on the night before the battle. The sun had already begun to rise, drawing the sky in rose and orange. They sat on the broad balustrade, talking quietly and when they noticed Bilbo, Fíli’s face turned cold again and he looked away into the sunrise.

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo stepped out on the balcony and towards the brothers. 

“I-“, he began but was cut off by Fíli again.

“I still have nothing to say to you.”

“But I to you!” Bilbo insisted, causing Kíli to smile a little. “And you will listen to what I have to say because I- I”, he stammered on for a while, not sure why a prince should listen to a Hobbit. “Because I am your friend! And I am in fact older than you! Kind of!” 

Fíli blinked surprised but didn’t reply. 

“I have messed this up. This is my fault, not yours. You did this to help me and I should have stood up for it and explained it to Thorin.”

“Don’t beat yourself over it”, Fíli muttered. “It was a retarded plan anyways.”

“But it wasn’t!” the Hobbit exclaimed and when he pulled the key from his pocket, the brothers nearly fell off the balustrade.

“You got it?!” Kíli bellowed, staring at the key with eyes as big as saucers.

“How- how did you do that?”

“I will explain one day, I promise”, Bilbo replied sheepishly. “But you see? The plan wasn’t retarded at all, it was brilliant and I couldn’t have gotten the key without you. You two brought the key back. You saved this quest!”

He handed the key to Fíli, who took it carefully, not quite believing that this was happening. 

“You really are a burglar, Master Baggins”, Kíli muttered, mesmerized by the key. “We need to tell Thorin! I’ll go and get him!”

“Kíli, don’t-!”

But it was too late already. Kíli hopped off the balustrade and off he went, leaving Bilbo and Fíli alone. The Dwarf turned the key in his hands, watching it deep in thoughts. 

“I am sorry”, he finally admitted quietly. “I should have never doubted you or your bravery. I was wrong to call you a traitor.”

“Maybe”, the Hobbit replied, smiling a little. “Though I will not blame you for you didn’t know that I had the key.”

“So you accept my apology?”

“I do.” 

And for the first time since they left Mount Gundabad, Fíli smiled. Because of a little Hobbit that stood in the middle of the balcony, his hands tucked behind his braces and smiled happily. 

When Kíli dragged his uncle to the balcony and Thorin’s gaze fell on the key in Fíli’s hand, he couldn’t do much but stare for a few seconds. He had believed the quest to be lost, for they couldn’t enter the mountain without the key. But there it was, firmly in his nephew’s grip and hope sparked again in the scarred heart of the king.

“You did this? You brought it back?”

Fíli’s gaze fell on Bilbo and the Hobbit nodded, silently encouraging him to claim the approval he deserved. The youngster remained quiet for a while before a small smile spread on his lips as he handed the key to Thorin.

“No, I didn’t”, he said and neither Bilbo nor Kíli could believe what they heard. 

“I don’t understand”, Thorin’s voice sounded stern again.

“Bilbo snatched it from Bolg. Not us. Kíli and I distracted him while Bilbo stole the key and that’s all we did. You have picked your burglar with better care than your fighters it seems.”

Thorin watched Fíli for a while, and then glanced at the Hobbit who did not seem to happy about the truth being revealed, for he wished for Thorin to be proud of his nephews again. Kíli began to feel uneasy, shifting from one foot to the other, while Fíli expected the next wigging, when his uncle suddenly cupped his face in his hands and leaned his forehead against Fíli’s.

“I couldn’t have picked any better and more honest fighters than you.” 

Relief gushed over them like a wave as Thorin pulled his nephews into an embrace and Bilbo stood beside them, beaming like a child. All the anxiety fell off his shoulders and there could have been nothing in this world that made him happier than seeing the family reunited with the key to their mission back in their hands. 

He flinched a little though, when Thorin turned to him.

“You indeed are a brave and most talented burglar, Master Baggins. I am sorry that I doubted you.”

“No, no not at all. I would have doubted me too”, the Hobbit smiled a little. “So the quest can continue then?”

“It can and it will. Not long until we will see the Halls of Erebor.”


	23. Chapter 23

Thorin never apologised for the slap in the face, nor for the harsh words he had said to his nephew. He believed it to be a valuable lesson and left Fíli to live with it and though the youngster struggled for a while, trying to find his high spirits again, he came by about three days later. 

Dáin and his warriors had left the Grey Mountains the day after the battle for their aid was not needed anymore. Their goodbyes were warm and friendly and Fíli and Bilbo were worried, for Kíli looked like he was about to cry while they watched the great Dwarves of the Iron Hills disappear across the bridge. The day after, Thorin’s company packed up and even Dwalin, who had been forced to rest and not move a muscle, seemed better and walked without any help, keeping the pain at bay with a good sip of grog every now and then.

They left the Grey Mountains by sunrise and travelled towards the east, the Mountains to their left and to their right lay the dark borders of Mirkwood. 

Though Gandalf had tried to convince Thorin of asking for provisions from the Elfking, Thorin refused to hear any of it. For it was the great King Thranduil that had triggered Thorin’s hate for Elves nearly 200 years ago and ever since, the Dwarven king had never entered his realm and didn’t plan on it. 

Fíli and Kíli, who had grown up with stories about Thranduil, watched the border of the forest with renunciation and for once, none of them was keen on venturing in. Bilbo, accepted amidst them again, travelled by their side and on the first day, everything seemed fine. They laughed and joked as if the grim battle in Mount Gundabad had never happened. The brother’s were lively and cheerful and only Thorin noticed that they had become even more inseparable, sleeping closer to each other at night and protecting each other from nightmares. 

By the end of the first day, they even snuck up on poor old Dwalin, who was walking a few feet ahead of them. 

“So, Mister Dwalin!” Kíli began, gently nudging Dwalin in the ribs. The old warrior simply glanced at him, knowing that nothing good could come from this.

“What do you want?” he mumbled.

“We were wondering”, Fíli grinned. “You told us a tale when we were young, remember? That tale about that great warrior that had never been defeated in battle, nor suffered from any wound bad enough to bring him down?”

“What of it?”

“That warrior wasn’t you by any chance, was it?” Kíli asked innocently.

“Of course not!” Fíli exclaimed. “Don’t you remember, stupid? The warrior in the tale was never wounded, yet old Mister Dwalin here is limping badly and he looks very worn out!”

“Oh, of course! Yes, stupid of me to assume”, Kíli nodded.

Dwalin halted, leaned onto his battle hammer and smiled.

“Want to hear another story then? A better one, I promise”, he asked.

The boys looked at each other for a second before they slowly and carefully stepped a little closer, for whenever Dwalin smiled, one could never been too sure. Even Thorin, who had been walking in front of them, listened up, watching his nephews.

“It’s quite a famous story, ye two will like it”, Dwalin began. The youngsters curiously looked at him. “It’s the story of two little shits who pestered an honourable but unfortunately injured Dwarf until he beat the crap out of both of them with the haft of his hammer. They say the boys were not able to walk or sit weeks later for their asses were blue and purple and shining like the Little Lune on a sunny day.”

Smiling, the boys wished Dwalin a nice day and a good journey and hurried back to Bilbo, who couldn’t help but laugh at the faces of the youngsters. When Dwalin had caught up with Thorin, the King gently patted him on the back.

“Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

On the second day, Fíli had grown unusually quiet. He still laughed and joked but left most of the talking to his brother. He couldn’t handle the heat of the day very well and often wandered in the shadows of the forest, Kíli never leaving his side once.

On the third day, Fíli didn’t say anything anymore, nor did he listen to the happy chattering of the remaining Dwarves. Bofur and Bilbo tried to convince Kíli that the loss of the battle still stuck in Fíli’s bones and made him weary but the youngster wasn’t convinced for he knew when something was wrong with his brother. Fíli shrugged it off though, smiling and assuring Kíli that he was alright.

On the morning of the fourth day, Kíli’s shouts woke up the whole camp. Fíli had slept uneasy during the night, tossing and turning and mumbling in his sleep and when Kíli awoke at sunrise, he found his brother next to him, pale as snow with dark shadows under his eyes, the blond braids plastered to his heated and sweaty skin. 

“He’s sick Thorin! You have to do something!” Kíli nearly panicked for his brother did not react to words or touches anymore and seemed like he suffered from horrible pain and vile nightmares. 

“Óin, see to him. The rest make a fire and gather the remaining herbs we have left.”

Once they had removed Fíli’s coat, jerkin and vest and opened his shirt, Óin gasped in shock and Kíli felt his stomach turn. The wound on Fíli’s side, caused by Bolg’s mace down in the mountain, was badly infected, blood and pus leaking out and it reeked of decay and rotten meat. 

“I thought you tended to that wound!” Thorin bellowed, looking at poor Óin accusingly.

“I didn’t even know he was wounded! He never came to me, just smiled and said he was fine!” the apothecary defended himself and Thorin growled in frustration.

“Stupid boy!” he snarled. “I told him to get the wound fixed! What is wrong with that Dwarf?”

“He merely tried to look strong”, Gandalf muttered, watching Fíli with a worried look on his face. “This wound needs medical attention immediately and you know we are short on medication.”

“We have some herbs left.”

“And King Thranduil will have just the right herbs for this kind of infection. You know very well that the Elves are better in healing than the Dwarves.” 

“And you know very well that I will not enter those woods!” Thorin thundered. 

Any attempt to convince the King of Thorin’s Halls otherwise was to no avail. Though Óin explained that he did not have enough medication left to treat Fíli, though Kíli screamed and shouted at his uncle, though Thorin, deep inside, knew very well that his nephew might die of this infection, he remained stubborn. And he hated himself for it. 

When nightfall came and Fíli still lay by the fire, shaken with ague and burning from fever, Thorin still hadn’t changed his mind. He sat a few feet away from them and ignored Balin and Óin who still tried to convince him to enter the woods and seek help from the Elvenking. Kíli had lost his voice over all the screaming and cursing and had settled down next to his brother. He stroked his hair and wiped the sweat of his forehead and fought with his own agony, for he couldn’t face losing his brother. Not again. Not ever.

Bilbo awoke in the middle of the night from a quiet rustling sound and as he glanced over to where Fíli was bedded, he saw a shadow in the dark, searching through his belongings. When he crept closer, he recognised Kíli who was quietly gathering his weapons, putting on his jerkin, coat and cloak.

“What are you doing?” the Hobbit whispered.

Kíli spun around, obviously startled by the Halfling.

“Bilbo! Nothing, I- go back to sleep”, he quickly replied.

“Why are you packing up?”

Kíli’s face was determined and grim as he shoved his remaining belongings in his bag. 

“I will go and seek out Thranduil”, he declared. 

“Alone?” the Hobbit piped up, staring at the young dwarf in shock.

“Alone indeed. I don’t care what Thorin says, I will not watch my brother die from a fever. Not when there’s help nearby.”

“But you don’t even know where to find him!”

“In those woods. Somewhere. I will surely find him and then I will ask him for help”, Kíli glanced at the dark trees and tried to hide all insecurity and fear, for the Mirkwood was diseased and foul and nobody in their right mind would enter it alone.

Bilbo glanced at Fíli, who was asleep but his breathing was shallow and slow and his face tense from pain and fever. In the end, the Hobbit wasn’t sure what had possessed him, but he quickly began to gather his own belongings, packing his pipe and the handkerchief that Bofur had given him. 

“What- no! No Master Baggins, I will not take you with me!” Kíli protested but Bilbo didn’t listen.

“I know he’s your brother and he means more to you than he does to me but he is my friend and I would feel terribly guilty if I hadn’t done my utter best to save him!”

Kíli watched him shoulder his bag and small smile crept on his lips.

“Very well then, since you have made up your mind already-“

“I have indeed!”

He was actually very much afraid, for he didn’t know where they were going and what to expect. The tales he had heard of the great Elfking had been anything but positive and Bilbo was not entirely convinced that seeking him out sounded like a good idea but he would not let the youngster wander into those woods alone. 

Kíli gently brushed a strand of hair from his brother’s sweaty face and placed a tender, small kiss on his forehead. 

“Don’t give up, you hear me? I’ll be back soon and then you’re going to be alright”, he whispered. “Just don’t you dare die on me while I’m gone.” 

They snuck out in the dark of the night and wandered along the border of the forest for a while but none of them dared to enter just yet. The thick undergrowth did not look inviting and strange noises came from beyond the trees, that none of them had ever heard before.

“So… which way is it then?” Bilbo asked.

“I don’t know”, Kíli admitted.

“You follow the border of the forest a little down south”, a voice sounded and both turned around startled, to find Gandalf standing behind them, leaning on his staff. “By sunrise you will have reached a passage made from ivy that will lead you on a path. Follow that path and do not leave it once. If you lose your way in those woods, you are lost for good.”

The Hobbit and the young Dwarf stared at the wizard in disbelief but Gandalf continued as if there was nothing strange about this.

“The path will eventually lead you to a dark river, but do not dare drink from it. Cross the bridge and you will see the gates to Thranduil’s palace. One thing you may never forget, Kíli. Thranduil is a King and a powerful one at that. He knows more than you, he has seen more than you and Dwarven stubbornness will lead to nowhere. Be humble, be patient, be kind. You will need to prove to him that the Dwarves are still worthy of saving.”

“You make it sound like an impossible task”, Kíli muttered and his heart sank down into his belly.

“Well, your uncle did a good job in offending Thranduil more than once and you will not be able to count on Thorin. Your brother’s life is in your hands and your hands alone”, Gandalf reminded him, knowing very well that his words were not exactly helping the youngster.

“Won’t you come with us?” Bilbo asked.

“No, for one will have to convince Thorin to stay where we are until you have called for aid”, Gandalf reminded them. “Though I doubt that he will get very far, considering the state that your brother is in. You better hurry, Kíli, son of Dís. And may Mahal be with you on this quest.”

Kíli nodded, slowly understanding the importance of this trip. For he had refused to truly believe that Fíli might die and it slowly dawned upon him.

When he set off, Bilbo by his side after they said their goodbyes to Gandalf, he had grown very quiet. The dark forest lingered to their right and the Hobbit felt uncomfortable and very much wished to shoo the fear away by chatting but he did not dare to disturb the Dwarf, for he could only imagine what was going on in Kíli’s head.

“He will make it”, Bilbo tried after a while. “He’s a fighter. And he would never leave you.”

“He promised he wouldn’t”, Kíli replied quietly. “We promised each other, actually.”

“Is that what you did that evening in Rhosgobel?”

“Yes”, Kíli smiled a little. 

“Well. I suppose it is something that brothers do”, Bilbo pondered.

“Do you have a brother, Master Baggins?”

“No. No I don’t. I don’t have any siblings.”

“It’s a nice thing, you know”, Kíli said, looking up at the stars above them. “To have a brother. They protect you and keep you warm and teach you everything they know. They take the blame when your mother scolds you, they stand up for you and they know how to beat you up well enough until you learned your lesson. And when you’re close to losing them, you’re close to losing the most important part of your life and it feels like choking slowly.”

Bilbo smiled gently. 

“You won’t lose him. I’m sure of that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I don’t know, I just- am. I suppose”, the Hobbit shrugged and they kept on walking through the darkness, talking quietly and none of them knew what was ahead.   
For the Mirkwood was deep and dangerous and an unknown magic lay upon it, that had slowly begun to swallow the great kingdom of Thranduil and bury it in darkness.


	24. Chapter 24

After passing the ivy alley by midday, they journeyed on for what felt like hours and the further they walked through the dim lights of the forest, the less sure they became whether it was still day or night-time already, for no light came through the dense treetops of Mirkwood. The undergrowth was thick and dark, the path matted with fir needles and cones. Not a sound was audible, the whole forest lay quiet. 

“I’ve never seen a place like this”, Kíli muttered quietly, for he did not dare to speak too loud, in case something dark might hear them. 

Bilbo had quickly noticed how uneasy the youngster felt. Dwarves were made to live underground in huge mountain halls and it dawned on the hobbit, that Kíli felt just as uncomfortable in a vast forest, as he had felt uncomfortable in the great halls of Mount Gundabad. This was no Dwarven territory at all and Bilbo quietly admired Kíli’s bravery for still venturing here on his own, separated from uncle and brother.

“Gandalf said we’d be fine as long as we don’t leave the path”, Bilbo reminded him reassuringly.

The air was stuffy and not a single breeze blew below the large trees. Kíli, though used to a lack of fresh air, slowly believed to be suffocating and he wished for nothing more but his brother by his side. When the worried expression returned to his face, Bilbo gently clutched the dwarves larger hand.

“We’ll find him soon, I’m sure.”

They did not anticipate however, that they would be found first.

When the Dwarf and the Hobbit had reached a small glade in between the trees, they suddenly heard the sound of hoofs, muffled on the soft ground beneath their feet.

“Someone’s coming! Quick Bilbo, hide!”

The Hobbit quickly scurried off the path and behind a large tree but Kíli did not make it in time. Just when he was about to hide behind another tree, riders appeared before them. The young Dwarf drew his sword in defence but was quickly surrounded.

Four Elven riders on beautiful, slender horses, their fur glistening in the dim light like diamonds. The Elves wore a light armour made from leather in green and brown, they each carried a bow and quiver and when they noticed the sword in Kíli’s hand, three of them immediately drew their weapons as well, aiming at the young prince.

Never before had Kíli felt so intimidated, looking up at the unmoving faces and for the first time he understood, why Thorin hated it so much to look up to others. For the first time, he felt his small Dwarven size. 

“Lower your weapon Dwarf, or you will force us to use ours on you”, one of the Elves spoke up. He was young and fair, the long blond hair falling over his shoulders and his eyes gleamed in bright blue. He was sitting on a gorgeous dark stallion and Kíli felt strange looking at him. As if some form of evil magic came from the Elf. 

“You lower your weapons first”, he snarled.

“Last warning, Dwarf. Lower your weapon or I will have you shot.”

Bilbo watched in horror behind his tree, praying silently for Kíli to put his weapon away but the stubbornness of Dwarves was unrivalled and the youngster did not move an inch. Not until an arrow buzzed through the air and drilled itself deep into Kíli’s shoulder.

The youngster clenched his teeth, suppressing any noise and hissed quietly instead. He dropped his sword and held his shoulder, staring angrily at the Elf, who still seemed utterly unfazed. 

“Don’t say we did not warn you”, he blankly stated. “Now what business has a lone Dwarf in the realm of the woodland-elves?”

“I need to speak to King Thranduil”, Kíli muttered between clenched teeth. “My business is my own.”

The Elf eyed him suspiciously for a while. Though the gentle and beautiful folk had a natural, somewhat inherited distrust of Dwarves and any other creature that willingly lived in mountain caves and caverns, he could sense no real danger coming from a single Dwarf.

“Disarm him”, the Elf ordered and immediately two others jumped from their horses. “Bind his hands and blindfold him.”

“What? No! Just take me to the king!” Kíli protested, struggling against the approaching Elves but to no avail. With an arrow buried in his shoulder he wouldn’t be able to fight properly. 

“We shall. But on our terms”, the Elf calmly explained.

Bilbo watched the whole scenario from behind the tree and before they could disappear with a blindfolded Kíli, he quickly slipped on his ring and followed them in some distance.

They ventured on for a while, Kíli staggering behind the horses, blind, in pain and scared and unsure of what he had gotten himself into. His hands were tied and bound to the saddle of a horse and he stumbled over pinecones and roots every now and then, wishing he were back in the Ered Luin, playing cards with his brother and smoking pipes. Bilbo felt utterly sorry for him, following in the shadows of the woods, for even though the Elves would not see him, he was worried of casting a shadow himself somehow.

They eventually got to the river that Gandalf had mentioned and while Kíli only heard the quiet gurgling and gushing, Bilbo saw the black waters and was soon quite sure that he wouldn’t have dared to drink from it, even without the wizard’s warning. They crossed a wooden bridge and soon a large wooden gate appeared before them, built in what seemed like a mountain.

Bilbo watched in surprise for he had believed that Elves preferred to live in beautiful halls above the ground and not below it, like Dwarves or Orcs. The House of Thranduil however was nothing like a Dwarven home. The slopes of the mountain were green and covered in trees and thick undergrowth, dark flowers growing between the fern and shrub. The gate had beautiful carvings, not angled and pointy like Dwarven runes but intertwined beautifully, creating true art and glorious patterns. 

The gates opened and the small company halted, the elves dismounting their horses. Another Elf stepped through the gates, a surprised look on his face.

“Our young prince back already? That was a quick hunt for sure”, he mumbled.

“We picked someone up on the path”, the young Elf explained and now that Bilbo looked at him again, he did indeed have something noble about him. “He inquires to speak to my father.”

Now Bilbo grew terribly pale. He might have known, for Kíli had an admirable talent of getting himself into the deepest trouble, that they would be found by the young Elven prince himself and though Bilbo didn’t know his name, he knew that Kíli’s success on this mission might very well depend on that single Elf. 

They disappeared inside the halls and the Hobbit quickly rushed after them, just in time before the gates closed behind his back. Torches of red and brown burned on the walls, casting the colours of autumn on the ground and ceiling and even though they ventured into another mountain, this place looked far more inviting than the Goblin halls or Bolg’s lair, though Bilbo believed it to be just as dangerous.

The Elves took the blindfold off Kíli as they led him on like a dog on a leash and the only reason why the youngster didn’t protest violently, was because of the arrow still stuck in his shoulder and burning with every step. 

‘He needs your help’, the young Dwarf reminded himself over and over. ‘He needs you to succeed on this quest, otherwise he will die. Don’t let him die.’

They eventually reached a large hall and Kíli was overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of this place. Everything shone brightly in the colours of autumn slowly approaching. The hall was decorated in orange, yellow, red and brown, beautiful banners hanging on the walls and large torches lighting it, drawing beautiful dancing silhouettes on everything the light touched. 

At the far end of the hall stood a wooden throne, decorated with carvings and branches and leaves and on it sat a handsome man, tall and slim. He was dressed in shining bronze robes and on his head, he had a crown made from leaves, beautiful as the fall itself. He looked stern when he noticed the dwarf.

“Now what is this?” he calmly asked, his voice soft as velvet but cold as a winter night. “A Dwarf in my halls?”

“He was out on the path, travelling alone”, the young prince explained, slightly bowing his head to his father. “He wants to speak to you.”

“Indeed?” the great Elfking leaned back on his throne, raising his eyebrows. “Plainly speak to me? For that would be a surprise since your kin seems to have taken a liking in insulting me, Dwarf.”

Kíli stood tall and tried his best to ignore the feeling of insecurity. Everything in this hall seemed big, though it was actually smaller than the Halls of the Ered Luin. He looked around for a brief moment and when he couldn’t spot Bilbo anywhere, his hope fell and he suddenly felt terribly alone in this world. He held no grudge, for he had told the Hobbit to hide but something within him wished that he hadn’t listened.

“I do not intend to insult you in any way”, Kíli solemnly declared, trying very hard to mimic Fíli, who was way better in official speeches than he was. “I came solely to speak to you and, in fact, ask your help.”

The hall fell silent and the Elvenking observed the young Dwarf quietly for a while. 

“Why is there an arrow sticking from your shoulder, Dwarf?” he suddenly asked and Bilbo, still invisible and actually closer to Kíli than the dwarf might have known, blinked puzzled for the quick change of subject confused him.

“Your son shot me”, Kíli replied, quick like a shot but calm, pointing at the young Elf prince with his hands still bound.

“It was a warning shot”, the Elf explained, a little flustered by the boldness of the Dwarf. “He refused to lower his weapons.”

“You threatened my kin?” Thranduil asked.

“It was four of them against a single me, how much of a threat do you believe I was?” Kíli snarled and Bilbo pulled a face. Hadn’t Gandalf explicitly reminded him to be humble and not to act up against Thranduil?

The Elf king though seemed bemused as he watched the, obviously very displeased, Dwarf. 

“Now what help might a Dwarf require from an Elf?”

“Medication, for my brother lies wounded at the border of the forest and won’t survive without a healer”, Kíli calmly replied, finally trying to remember Gandalf’s words.

“Your brother?”

“Aye. We’re a company of fifteen, travelling to the east to reclaim our homeland”, the youngster explained, not without a spark of pride in his voice. 

Thranduil’s fair features turned grim though, all amusement gone from his eyes and replaced with mistrust and disrelish.

“To reclaim your homeland, you say. Then I believe you speak of the company of Thorin Oakenshield”, he almost spat out the name.

Kíli felt stuck. Of course he was aware of the on-going hostility between his uncle and Thranduil but still, lying to the Elvenking felt wrong, for he was quite certain that the Elf would look right through him, as if he was made of crystal glass.

“I do”, he therefore honestly replied and Bilbo grew very anxious, even though nobody even sensed that he was there. “My name is Kíli, son of Dís, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thranduil remained quiet for a very long time. Long enough to make Kíli nervous but he did not dare to say another word. He was thus relieved when the Elvenking spoke up again, though his words were ungracious and wary.

“And your uncle send you here?”

“No, my lord. My uncle is not aware of my being here. I came on my own account”, Kíli replied, still reminding himself to remain polite. Thranduil again did not answer immediately but the young Dwarf saw his features growing darker and darker and he soon learned, that the Elvenking’s mistrust was just as big as that of his uncle. 

“Bring that Dwarf to the dungeons, cater to the wound in his shoulder and bring him water and something to eat”, the king ordered.

“What?!” Kíli bellowed as he was grabbed by his arms. “I did nothing to you, why would you lock me away?!”

“I mistrust your kin for I’ve known Dwarves long enough”, Thranduil replied sharply. “I will think about your words but until then you will remain locked up here.”

“But my brother is dying! Don’t you understand?! He will die if you don’t help him, there’s not enough time!”

But all the shouting was to no avail, as Kíli was dragged off to the dungeons, kicking and fighting. Bilbo quickly followed after him, terror and frustration mingling in his guts. Neither the Hobbit, nor the Dwarf noticed the young Elf prince watching quietly as Kíli was dragged away. 

Thorin had meanwhile gone into a rage after he had noticed the absence of his nephew and had gotten even more furious when Gandalf explained to him, where the youngster had disappeared to. He spit out vile words like “betrayal” and spoke much about “family honour” and everyone felt more than uncomfortable. No matter how hard Balin and Dwalin tried to calm their old friend down, Thorin would hear none of it.

With Kíli gone, Bofur had settled down next to the anguished Fíli and had begun to tend to the youngster, Ori close by, for the chronicler had grown fond of the princes and regarded himself as their friend now. They tried to soothe the fever with cold bandages and whenever Fíli grew restless, often whispering his brother’s name in his sleep, they would quietly sing to him, Bofur sometimes playing the flute and Ori read poems and stories to calm the youngster. 

“Do you think he will come back in time?” Ori quietly asked when Thorin had ended his rampage but he did not dare to speak up too loud, in case of triggering the king to go into another frenzy.

“I hope so, lad”, Bofur replied thoughtfully, watching Fíli’s tense features. “I really do hope so.”


	25. Chapter 25

The stonewalls of the dungeon cell were cold and hollow and reminded Kíli of hardened clay. Elven charms were carved into the walls and although the Dwarf couldn’t read it, he felt even more terrified and alone. 

The Elves had removed the arrow from his shoulder, not in a very gentle way, and bandaged the wound and left him with a pitcher of water and a large piece of bread, that was riddled with various spices the youngster didn’t know and therefore didn’t want to eat. He spat out the one bite he tried right away and curled up by the bars, looking grim and miserable. 

Bilbo had waited in the shadows of the dungeons until the Elven guards were not in earshot anymore, then he dared to scurry closer to the poor Dwarf. For a while, he had been pondering about how to manage this situation and had finally come to a conclusion that he wasn’t quite happy with, but he had no other choice.

“Kíli?” he whispered quietly, sitting by the Dwarf with only the bars between them.

The youngster looked around startled but didn’t see anything, for Bilbo was still wearing the ring. 

“Bilbo?” he asked and almost believed to be suffering from hallucinations already.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Where are you?” for once, Kíli wasn’t sure if he felt happy about Bilbo being around or rather irritated, since he couldn’t spot the Hobbit anywhere. When something suddenly tucked at his sleeve, the Dwarf flinched badly and rushed into the middle of his cell on all fours. There was nothing at the bars. Nothing at all that could have touched him.

“Are you a wraith?!” he demanded, worried that his friend might have died and had now come back to haunt him, since his death would have obviously been his fault.

“A wraith? No”, Bilbo chuckled at the distressed face of the Dwarf. “This is some kind of magic I suppose. Nobody can see me right now.”

Kíli scooted closer again, carefully and slowly for he still didn’t quite trust Bilbo’s words. It could have been Elven magic after all, trying to trick him. He reached out through the bars and when he felt a light touch at the tip of his fingers, he felt his stomach churn and his heart race in his chest.

“How do you do that?” he asked, looking at his hand and feeling that something was poking him but nothing could be seen.

“It’s a ring I’ve found. Looks like it makes me invisible”, the Hobbit explained simply, pinching Kíli in the heel of his hand, causing the youngster to hiss and pull his hand back.

“Ouch”, the Dwarf shot a nasty look into the thin air. “So that’s how you got the key from Bolg.”

“Precisely”, the Hobbit replied, grinning to himself. “Look, I will try to find a way out of here but it might take a while. Is your shoulder alright?”

“It hurts but I will live”, Kíli replied and suddenly remembered his brother. His own misery was quickly forgotten, as his features grew worried again. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

Bilbo watched him, his eyes full of pity and he was quite glad that Kíli couldn’t see him right now, for he surely wouldn’t want to be pitied.

“What does your heart tell you?” he asked gently.

“That he’s still fighting”, Kíli replied after a while, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I need to get out of here, Bilbo. I can’t just sit around and let death take him.”

“I know, I know. I’ll try to help but bear with me. This place is too big for my liking”, the Hobbit muttered.

They suddenly heard the sound of footsteps approaching and Kíli gestured Bilbo to be quiet again. The Halfling disappeared to the other side of the corridor and watched surprised, when the young Elf prince appeared by the corner. He stopped by Kíli’s cell and the Dwarf quickly rose to his feet, the pain in his shoulder making his head spin for a second. He refused to look up to the Elf even more than he already had to.

“Is it true what you said in the hall?” the Elf asked, watching the Dwarf with some mistrust. “That your brother was dying?”

“Why would I lie about that?” Kíli grouched, already forgetting Gandalf’s advice again for he saw no need to be humble when he was mistreated so badly. He thus was utterly surprised when the expression on the beautiful features of the Elf changed and became somewhat irritated and curious.

“How does that feel?” he asked. Kíli eyed him for a while and he felt the dislike and suspicion slowly fading, for he had never encountered an Elf that had looked at him like that before.

“Like burning from the inside. As if my heart is torn to pieces”, he replied after a while and sank down by the wall again, for he felt like his feet couldn’t carry him anymore. He pulled his legs close to his body and felt his throat grow tight but he wouldn’t shed a tear before an Elf. 

The Elven prince watched him from the other side of the bars. It was a strange sensation, for Elves did not know about death and decay, unless they had fought in battle. The young prince had never lost anyone dear to him, thus death was a foreign concept and he became curious at the sight of the suffering Dwarf. Not in a begrudging way, but in the way of a child that had just learned something new about this world. 

“Where did your company set camp?” the Elf asked after a while and Kíli looked up at him once more.

“On the north-eastern side of the forest. We’ve travelled down from the Grey Mountains a couple of days ago”, he replied carefully. “Why?”

“My father is not willing to help you”, the Elf began and Kíli suddenly felt so frustrated and furious that he punched his fist into the clay wall. Shards were trickling down on the floor and his hand was bruised but he did not care. For all he knew was that his brother would die without Elven help. He was thus surprised, when the Elf spoke up again.

“But I might”, the beautiful creature didn’t seem happy with his own decision though. “I can not let you out of your cell, but I can give you my word that someone will see to your brother’s wounds. I can offer no more than that.”

“That’s more than enough!” Kíli exclaimed, getting up from his spot in a hurry. “I can take care of myself but my brother needs help. And he needs it urgently for he’s been suffering since four days now and I’m not even sure he’s alive anymore.”

The Elf nodded slowly, turning on his heels. 

“What’s your name?” Kíli shouted after him, his fingers clenched around the bars of his cell. 

“Legolas”, the Elf replied, looking back over his shoulder, before he disappeared around the corner.

Kíli stood by the bars for a while, watching the empty corridor before him. He silently wondered why an Elf would offer his help. Especially this young prince, since his father seemed reluctant to do the same. And he wondered about the curious expression, for he wasn’t aware that Elves did not die unless they were killed.

“Bilbo?” he quietly asked after a few minutes but no reply came. He waited a little longer but soon realised that the Hobbit must have scurried off to find a way out. Disappointed and sad, Kíli sat down by the wall again. He felt useless and angry, mostly at himself for being so naïve as to believe that Thranduil would actually help them. His uncle had been right after all. 

The Halfling had hurried off after Legolas and while he followed the prince, always staying close to the walls, he tried to remember all the corridors and halls. Back in the throne room, Thranduil still pondered over his prisoner and he looked up when his son entered the hall.

“Are you sure you don’t want to help?” he asked gently but received no proper answer.

“Have the rafts arrived yet?” the king asked instead and Bilbo listened up.

“Just now.”

“Good”, Thranduil seemed content. “I feel festive today.”

The Hobbit felt his stomach turn and he glared at the Elf accusingly, until he remembered that he couldn’t see him. 

“What’s with the empty barrels and the provisions for the Lake-men?”

“They’ll be send back to Esgaroth tomorrow”, Legolas replied. He heard a faint noise in his back and carefully glanced over his shoulder. Though he couldn’t see anything, he noticed a weird shadow moving beneath one of the torches and furrowed his brow. 

Bilbo suddenly felt incredibly paranoid and as quietly as his Hobbit feet could carry him, he hurried back down the corridor. When he reached a bigger junction, he went left instead of right and soon found himself in the far basement down below the House of Thranduil. He followed the corridor and after a few steps, the delicious scent of wine and food tickled his nose.

The pantry was crammed with barrels and boxes and bags of wonderful delicacies and the Hobbit silently hoped that his stomach wouldn’t begin to rumble. Two Elves stood by a hatch in the ground, the panel lifted and Bilbo could hear the Forest River gurgle underneath their feet. He watched in wonder, when the Elves began lifting barrels from a raft below, one after the other, each filled to the brim with wine. The wonderful scent drafted over to the Hobbit and he sincerely wished for a taste but did not dare to move an inch. 

“When will we send those barrels back?” one of the elves asked casually.

“Tomorrow at sunrise”, the other replied, hurling another barrel from the raft. “They’ll all be empty by then, I’m sure of it. Let’s just hope that there will be one left for us as well.”

A soft tinkle distracted Bilbo and when he looked closely, he noticed the key to the dungeon cells hanging from the belt of one Elf. His face lit up and a plan formed in his head. Vague still, but a plan nonetheless. He silently crept back to the corridor and hurried off to the captured Dwarf.

Kíli still sat at the same spot on the ground and felt miserable. Sorrow was drawn all over his features, though he was not worried about himself but rather about his brother. If Legolas did not make it in time, it might be too late for Fíli. Unable to bare the thought of losing his brother, the young Dwarf once again buried his face against his knees and thus didn’t hear the quiet Hobbit steps approaching.

“Kíli”, Bilbo whispered, his invisible hands grasping the bars of the cell. The Dwarf looked up but, of course, couldn’t see anything.

“Bilbo, where have you been?”

“Scouting a little”, the Hobbit replied. “Where is Esgaroth?”

“Esgaroth?” Kíli listened up and tried to ignore the feeling of stupidity, while talking to thin air. “Esgaroth is a town by the Long Lake. It’s close to Erebor.”

“It is?” the Hobbit beamed and Kíli could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Yes, why?”

“We’re going there!” Bilbo happily exclaimed.

“What?” the Dwarf asked puzzled. “When?”

“Tomorrow at sunrise. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there tonight.”

The moon was shining bright above the Mirkwood and the stars sparkled in the sky like millions of diamonds.

Bofur sat by the fire, looking up at the darkness above them, smoking his pipe. Ori had fallen asleep next to him, leaning against his shoulders. He still held a book in his hands, old and leather bound with plenty of beautiful illustrations, that he had been reading stories from to Fíli. The young prince lay quietly, sleeping tight and Bofur checked from time to time if he was still breathing, for the youngster never moved. 

A few yards away sat Thorin, wide awake, yet exhausted but he did not dare to close his eyes, for nightmares haunted him whenever he fell asleep. Never before had he suffered like this. The King had lost a lot in his life. His home. His grandfather. His brother. His father. And he lived through all of that, turning bitter and cold but still, he lived. Losing his nephews too however, and Thorin was sure of that, would be the death of him, for even a strong Dwarven heart could only bear so much suffering. 

He stirred when he heard a rustling sound and got up from his spot, when he saw two creatures approaching from the dark. Two tall, hooded figures on horses appeared at the border of the woods. Thorin rose from his spot, his hand on Orcrist’s hilt already, when one of the cloaked figures spoke up, gentle and quiet with the most soothing voice that Bofur had ever heard.

“There is no need to draw your weapon, Thorin Oakenshield. We’ve come to help.”


	26. Chapter 26

The hooded figures dismounted their horses and stepped close to the camp, the dim firelight drawing shadows on their large and slim frames. Thorin’s fingers did not leave the hilt of his sword but he relaxed a little.

“Who are you?” he demanded coldly.

Bofur gasped quietly, when one of the strangers took off his hood and a beautiful, young Elven face was revealed. He wore the clothes of a ranger but a large brooch in the shape of an ivy leaf gave him away as royalty.

“My name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm. I come in the name of a Dwarf named Kíli and an invisible little creature that keeps him company.”

The voices stirred up the other Dwarves as well and when Kíli’s name was mentioned, Thorin stopped in his tracks and blankly stared at the Elf. 

“He made it”, Bofur whispered quietly. “He got to Thranduil’s palace.”

He quickly began nudging poor Ori, who blinked and smacked his lips quietly, looking around.

“Wha- What’s going on?”

“Wake up, sleepy head! Here’s something for your chronicles!” Bofur explained, getting up from his spot and causing poor Ori to topple over.

“Where is Kíli then?” Thorin snarled at the elf. 

“I will explain”, Legolas promised calmly. “We are here however to heal his brother. I believe that has priority.”

The King of Thorin’s Halls crossed his arms before his chest, watching the Elves carefully. It was Bofur who led them to Fíli and Legolas’ companion, a beautiful female Elf and one of Thranduil’s best healers, cowered down by his side and began to examine the wound. Legolas waited next to her, curiously watching the injured Dwarf. There was no malice in his eyes nor spitefulness. The longer he looked at the young dwarf, the stranger his feelings became. Never before had he seen someone on the verge of death, so pale and fragile and a sudden fear crept through his body. The fear that befalls everybody, who witnesses death. He turned around, unable to watch any longer and pity dwelled up in him. Pity and the sole, honest wish that they could save the life of this unknown Dwarf. 

The Dwarves watched warily, for none of them trusted Elves enough to leave them alone with their injured heir. Strangely enough, it was Dwalin who dared to step closest, for he had been watching out over Fíli ever since he was born and he had trained him in combat and taught him everything he needed to know about battle. 

“What invisible little creature was he talking about?” Nori asked quietly, leaning towards his brother.

“Don’t know”, Dori shrugged. “Master Baggins is small but not small enough to be invisible now, is he?”

And suddenly the Dwarves took very much pride in being bigger than Hobbits and they all stood tall. Thorin stepped up next to his old friend and watched as the Elf tended to Fíli’s wound, applying a balm and bandages drenched in herbs and lotions. She whispered quiet words in a tongue the Dwarves did not understand and Thorin shot an insecure side-glance at Dwalin, who plainly shook his tattooed head. 

“You still owe me an answer to my question, Elf”, Thorin muttered, looking up at Legolas.

“Your nephew is currently captured in the dungeons of the palace”, Legolas calmly began but quickly took a few steps back when he was suddenly faced with the tip of Thorin’s sword against his chest. 

“Thorin!” Balin bellowed but was held back by his own brother, whose other hand was hovering above the haft of his own axe. 

“The dungeons?!” Thorin thundered. “I demand him to be released immediately!”

“It is not my decision to be made”, the Elf tried to explain but Thorin would hear none of it. 

“Is that the way Thranduil treats lone travellers now?” he snarled. “Locking them up for no good reason at all! Or is that a treatment solely for his Dwarven enemies?!”

“My father has no enemies amongst the Dwarves”, Legolas stated but wished he hadn’t only a second later, when he felt Dwalin’s axe in his back as well.

“Your father?” Thorin repeated, a dangerous glint in his blue eyes. 

“Thorin, this is folly!” Balin barked but did not dare to step any closer. “He has come to help us! Do you really want to repay the kindness with violence?”

“No kindness comes from Elves!” the Dwarven King declared, his eyes fixed on Legolas.

“And what is this then, but kindness?” Balin asked, gesturing to the Elf by Fíli’s side, who, even though her prince was threatened right next to her, kept on tending to the young Dwarf’s wounds. 

“Act wisely, Thorin”, Gandalf slowly remarked. “Do not endanger both your nephews at once. Help one first, then help the other.”

“I shall”, Thorin growled and both Gandalf and Balin knew that nothing good would come from this. “Why won’t the Elven prince keep us company until my nephew has been released.”

Legolas stared bewildered at the Dwarf. He had grown up learning his father’s mistrust of Dwarves and he had witnessed him set off for Erebor that day the dragon had come but he had never before believed all the gruesome tales of the Line of Durin to be true. Now however, one blade held to his chest, another in his back and facing captivity himself, he was inclined to believe his father. 

In the dungeons of Thranduil’s halls, Kíli meanwhile waited for the sun to rise. Bilbo had scurried off once more and the young Dwarf did not know where to. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being useless as he sat waiting.

The Hobbit had set camp in the pantry, watching the two Elven guards. They had been playing cards, merrily chatting and drinking plenty down by the hatch. By midnight, they were already drunk, singing in a language he couldn’t understand and above his head he heard more singing and dancing and for once was thankful for the festive behaviour of Thranduil’s kin. 

He waited for another two or three hours and once the Elves had fallen fast asleep, their heads on the low table and not looking so beautiful anymore, he dared to creep closer. He fumbled with the key to the dungeon cells for a while, trying to pluck it off without waking the guard and it took him a good while before he managed. Clasping it close to his chest to prevent it from jingling, he hurried back to Kíli’s cell.

Kíli stared in awe when a rattling sound came from the lock of his cell and then the door suddenly swung open. 

“Bilbo?”

“Hurry now. You need to be well hidden before sunrise, they may not find you!” the Hobbit whispered, pulling the Dwarf by his coat. 

“But where do I hide?”

“You’ll see. Now come along but don’t make too much noise!”

“Noise? I’m quiet as a cat!” the Dwarf declared solemnly and soon proved himself a liar for his loud steps nearly gave poor Bilbo one heart attack after the other. They were lucky that the Elves were drunk and feasting and singing, some already passed out and fast asleep. 

Kíli quietly snuck past them, following Bilbo who was still invisible but pulling the Dwarf along by his coat. It felt weird but Kíli surely would not complain, for it was all thanks to Bilbo, that he had a chance to escape. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder and tried his best to be silent. 

By the hatch, they found a couple of empty barrels. 

“There we are”, he whispered.

“What, you want me to get into one of those?” Kíli asked puzzled, lifting the lid off one barrel and peering into it. 

“Indeed I do. Those barrels will travel to Esgaroth by sunrise, they won’t even notice you’re in one of them?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be in another on. Or sitting on top of yours, we’ll see”, he Hobbit explained happily until he noticed the pondering expression on Kíli’s face.

“Why wait until sunrise though?”

“What do you mean?”

Bilbo watched bewildered as the youngster glanced down the hatch to find the raft, left by the Raft-Elves of the Mirkwood, that were up in Thranduil’s halls, drinking and celebrating along with their kin. It was tied to the hatch and lazily swayed on the black waters of the Forest River. 

“Come on Bilbo, you get down first!” the Dwarf gestured towards the hatch.

“What, me? No! No no no, hobbits are no sailors!” Bilbo declared but did not seem to impress Kíli very much.

“Neither are Dwarves but this is our way to get out.”

“I- I can’t even swim!” the Halfling protested.

“I’ll save you, should you fall in. Now come on, get down there before they wake up!” Kíli rushed him and watched content, as the raft sunk down a little deeper and he heard the quiet thud when Bilbo landed on the rocking raft.

“I- I don’t feel particularly safe right now”, the Hobbit muttered, watching as Kíli slowly climbed down the hatch and onto the raft.

“Where are you?” the Dwarf asked and the only reply was a faint blip right next to him. Without warning, Kíli grabbed into the nothing by his side and when he got a good hold of Bilbo, he lifted him up to the hatch to untie the raft. 

“I still don’t think this is a very good idea”, the Hobbit murmured but quickly untied the shaking wood.

When they cast off, the moon was still shining above the woods and no Elf suspected anything. The music of their harps was echoing down to the Dwarf and the Hobbit on the raft, the lights of Thranduil’s halls reflected on the water and when they looked up at the mountain, they both beamed with joy for they had made it.

Just in that same moment that Kíli was floating into freedom, Fíli opened his eyes.

The world was blurry and dark with light patches and he did not know where he was or how he got there but as the familiar voices became clearer and the haze faded slowly, he realised that he was lying underneath a starry sky. He heard crickets chirp and the silent talk of his companions. 

A slurred face appeared above him and it was the weird shape of his hat that gave Bofur away before his features became clear. 

“Finally amongst the livin’ again, are we?” he smiled down at the prince. “How are you feelin’ lad?”

Fíli couldn’t reply but began to cough instead, stirring Thorin who immediately forgot about the Elf and rushed to his nephew’s side. 

“Fíli! Thank Durin”, he sighed, gently brushing a strand of blond hair from his face. “You’re awake.”

“He will need some quietness and plenty of sleep now”, the healer calmly explained and quickly glanced over to Legolas. 

The Elven prince stood by the fire, too proud to sit and Dwalin and Bifur were guarding him. His hands had been bound but he refused to show any dismay or fear. Instead, he stood tall, his blond hair shining in the moonlight and he carried an expression on his beautiful face that reminded Thorin of Thranduil. 

“You indeed helped for once”, Thorin growled at him. “Or so it seems. We shall have to wait and see until he is much better.”

“Thorin, please”, Balin muttered but was entirely ignored. 

“Bofur, bind her hands as well. Once we know that Fíli is better, she will be released and send to Thranduil to deliver a message”, the King mercilessly declared and settled down comfortably by Fíli’s side. The youngster had listened quietly but couldn’t yet comprehend what was going on. 

“I’m sorry, lass”, Bofur muttered as he bound the Elf’s hands together and led her to Legolas. He watched Thorin carefully and he surely wasn’t the only one who disapproved of their King’s behaviour. Balin, Ori, Dori, Nori and Bombur did not seem all too happy with the captured Elves and Gandalf refused to speak a single word to the King of Thorin’s Halls until he had returned to his senses. 

Stubborn as Thorin was however, also blinded by hate that nobody could really explain, he saw nothing wrong in his behaviour and believed it to be the best for his kin. He carefully cleaned some sweat off his nephews face, feeling the heated skin slowly cooling down again.

“You will be well soon enough”, he mumbled.

“Kíli”, Fíli whispered croaky. “Where’s Kíli?”

Thorin’s face turned grim and he shot a nasty look towards the Elves.

“He will be well again too.”


	27. Chapter 27

The sun slowly crept above the treetops of Mirkwood, drawing orange and yellow patterns on the cloudy sky. 

While Thranduil’s Elves slowly came back to their senses, soon to find the prisoner, as well as the raft missing, the Dwarves had slowly begun to settle down. Bombur, Glóin and Nori were snoring, happily dreaming of home and food and soft beds. Dwalin and Bifur had not given up their guard of the two Elves and Thorin remained restless. He sat a few yards away, sharpening Orcrist’s blade only to keep himself occupied and tried to ignore Balin by his side. The old Dwarf had never been more unhappy with his leader and that said a lot, for Balin, as well as Dwalin, were usually Thorin’s most loyal companions and trusted friends.

“This will not help to keep the peace between you and Thranduil”, Balin insisted but no matter what he said, nothing seemed to impress the King.

“And you believe that imprisoning my nephew is Thranduil’s idea of keeping the peace?” Thorin mumbled, causing Balin to roll his eyes. 

“No it is not of course, but you don’t have to act the same way! You could be the bigger ma-“, Thorin glared at him. “Dwarf. The bigger Dwarf.”

“It is a simple deal”, Thorin stated and even though he sounded calm and controlled, Balin could sense it boiling underneath his surface. He knew it was worry that drove Thorin to this crackbrained act but the old Dwarf believed it to be his duty to tell him the truth. 

“It’s not simple at all for its consequences will be grave, Thorin, and you know it. There is nothing simple about keeping the son of the Elven King as a hostage.”

“He’s not a hostage, he’s a guest”, Thorin simply replied and seemed fine with that, whilst Balin mumbled a quiet “You don’t tie your guests up though.”

Legolas still stood by the fire, his companion kneeling by his side for she was slowly growing tired and her wrists began to hurt from the thick, rough Dwarven rope. He watched as one Dwarf after the other fell asleep and only a few remained awake. The wizard in his corner seemed unpredictable, for his eyes were open but he hadn’t moved in a while. Little did Legolas know, that Gandalf in fact slept with his eyes open.

When Fíli stirred, Bofur carefully led the Elven healer over to him, so she could have another look. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you”, she murmured quietly, even though Fíli did not seem to grasp what was happening yet. With his uncle out of earshot, he turned to Bofur, who sat close again and looked tired and worn out.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice still husky.

“You fell ill. Silly lad, why didn’t you get that wound checked in the first place?” Bofur asked, though not accusingly. He was in fact merely glad that the youngster started to feel better.

“I- I don’t know I- couldn’t”, Fíli admitted quietly and the miner smiled understandingly. Durin’s pride, once again. It was a phenomenon to the down-to-earth Bofur who usually had no trouble with admitting a mistake. For Fíli, Kíli and most of all Thorin though, it seemed like an impossible task to manage.

“This lovely lass has been taking care of you since last night”, Bofur explained, gesturing towards the Elf. 

“That’s- cordial”, Fíli muttered, unsure what to say. Even though she wasn’t his type at all – not enough beard and she was way too big on top of that – he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful in her own ways. “Thank you.” The Elf merely smiled at him, while she changed the bandage on his side.

Bofur noticed the blush on Fíli’s cheeks and giggled quietly. Seeing one of the youngsters that shy surely was something new and thus quite entertaining. 

“What’s with the other one?” the youngster asked, trying his best not to stare at the lady.

“That’s Thranduil’s son, I suppose. Your uncle has decided to have him captured”, Bofur scratched his neck.

“What? Why?”

“Because your brother-“

Fíli bolted upright, only to sink back down the next second, clutching his side.

“I wouldn’t recommend you try that yet”, the Elf calmly said, helping him to settle down again. 

“Where is Kíli?” Fíli demanded, ignoring her completely.

“He went to find help for you”, Bofur sighed. “It seems like Thranduil locked him up in his palace though.”

“He went alone?” Fíli was most distressed and no matter how much the Elf tried to calm him down, it was to no avail. 

“Bilbo is with him. It seems as if your uncle has now decided to even out the situation and has, in turn, taken Thranduil’s son hostage.”

Fíli looked over to Legolas, who still stood tall but seemed utterly unhappy. Like his uncle, he had never been fond of Elves but he remembered Lord Elrond and the help he had offered when Kíli was injured. And even though their departure from Rivendell had been sudden and not to their own choosing, the Elves had still saved his brother. Fíli peeked over to his uncle who was slowly falling asleep, leaning lightly against Balin’s shoulder. It seemed as if the turmoil of the last day had finally taken its toll on Thorin and he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

“Bring him over”, Fíli whispered to Bofur, who just looked at him in surprise. “Go on, I want to speak to him.”

Dwalin, still guarding the Elf, was reluctant to let Bofur take him to Fíli. He left Legolas under Bifur’s guard and crouched down next to the youngster.

“What do you think you’re doin’ huh?” he asked, trying to remain grim as usual when he was more than relieved to find Fíli awake and not so pale anymore.

“Please Dwalin. I know you’re loyal to my uncle and I admire you for this loyalty but I have to do this.”

“Have to do what?” the old warrior required but Fíli’s look soon gave the answer away. “I can’t let you do that, laddie. Thorin would despise the both of us.”

“I’ll take the blame. Don’t worry, you will still remain loyal, I simply forced you to do it. I am your prince after all!”

“Oh no, come on now don’t pull that crap on me”, Dwalin objected, wrinkling his scarred nose but to no avail. 

While Bofur guided Legolas to the youngster, the healer helped Fíli to sit up straight for he did not want to face the prince in such a vulnerable position. He still had to look up to the Elven prince until Legolas had settled down, but he didn’t seem to mind as much as his brother or uncle.

“Have you been offered food or drink?” he asked, surprising Bofur even more.

“No, none of it”, Legolas replied, his throat a little dry already.

“Bofur, would you be so kind?”

The miner scurried away quietly and returned with water, grog and smoked ham. Whilst rummaging around, he woke up poor Ori once again and the chronicler watched surprised. He settled down by Fíli’s side and Fíli let him, considering that he was his trusted friend.

“Help yourselves”, Fíli offered and though the two Elves must have been hungry, they only took small bites, looking graceful and pretty. Bofur had to think of his own table manners and slightly shook his head to himself.

“How is my brother treated in the dungeons of your palace?” Fíli asked but he didn’t sound unfriendly. His voice had a rather diplomatic tone, something that Thorin often lacked.

“He will be taken care of”, Legolas replied. “Until my father has decided what to do with him.”

“What do you think he will do?”

“I don’t know”, the Elf admitted. “He will probably release him sooner or later, just like your uncle will release me and my companion.”

Fíli glanced at his sleeping uncle once more, before he addressed Bofur, still calm and collected and ignoring the pain in his side.

“Please, bring me my dagger.”

“Fíli, now don’t do anything stupid”, Bofur objected, but another gentle “Please?” from the youngster melted his heart and off he went again, to come back with parts of Fíli’s ridiculously large arsenal. The young Dwarf firmly gripped the dagger and leaned towards Legolas, leaving the prince to fear for a second that he might drive the blade straight through his throat but instead the young Dwarf began to cut the ropes around the Elf’s wrists. 

“Your uncle will not be pleased with this”, Bofur murmured.

“I know. But I’m not pleased with this now”, Fíli replied and when the ropes were cut, he put the dagger to the side. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.” 

Ori and Bofur plainly stared at the young prince and whilst Ori’s admiration for Fíli grew even more, Bofur came to realise that even though both Fíli and Thorin were direct descendants of Durin the Deathless, they were in fact very different from one another. And considering the hardship that Thorin had to suffer through in his life, that had turned him cold and bitter, and Fíli’s lack thereof, it wasn’t even that surprising to the Dwarf from the east.

“I won’t let you go without a condition though”, Fíli stated, looking at Legolas. “Tell your father that Thorin Oakenshield is thankful for what he did and the help he sent.”

“But it wasn’t my father who sent help”, Legolas admitted and was thus surprised when a small smile tucked at Fíli’s lips.

“And it is not my uncle who is grateful.”

It wasn’t the beginning of a bond, let alone a friendship but the two princes silently formed an understanding that their eldest were not capable of forming. Before Legolas set off, he promised Fíli to look after his brother and help him escape as well as he could. The healer left herbs and the infamous poppy seeds with the youngster and the two Elves disappeared quietly, taking the horses with them. Not a Dwarf stirred and when they were out of sight, Fíli sighed heavily.

While he twiddled with the little pouch with the poppy seeds, Bofur watched him, deep in thought. 

“You do know what you will have to suffer the consequences of this?” he asked, concern in his voice. 

“I know”, Fíli replied, picking a poppy seed from the pouch. “And I shall without complaint.”

When Legolas and the healer arrived at Thranduil’s halls again by noon, they found the entire palace in an upheaval. Thranduil sat on his throne, his face grim and he was most displeased. When Legolas entered, he looked up.

“And where have you been?”

“Out”, the young Elf replied. “What is going on?”

“The Dwarf escaped”, Thranduil muttered and Legolas had to try hard to keep his face from lighting up too much. 

“He did? How?”

“The raft. He took the raft it seems. Happily paddling to Esgaroth right now, I suppose”, the King replied and suspiciously watched his son’s face. “You don’t happen to have anything to do with this, do you?”

“No. I was out, like I said”, the young prince blankly replied. “I am supposed to deliver a message of gratitude though.”

“Are you? By whom and why?”

“By Thorin Oakenshield, for generously helping his other nephew.”

“By Thorin- hey, you stay here and explain yourself!” Thranduil thundered after his son, who had already turned to leave, quickly enough to prevent his father from seeing the smile that had spread on his features.

Kíli and Bilbo meanwhile had settled down on the raft. Even though it wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel and the little Hobbit still feared to fall into the dark waters and drown, they were quite merry and cheerful. Of course both of them had forgotten to take provisions and they soon became hungry but all misery was quickly forgotten when the first rays of sunlight shone down upon them and the treetops slowly began to clear. Every glimpse of the blue sky above helped them to forget their hunger.

“Bilbo?” Kíli began after a while, taking a drag from his pipe that Bilbo had saved along with his weapons. “Tell me again, how did you plan on letting the others know that we are fine now and travelling to Lake-Town?”

“Hm”, the Hobbit smiled, lying on his back and looking up at the blue and green, thinking about the Shire. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t”, Kíli smiled.

“Nope, I didn’t.”

Twittering and shrieking, the birds in the surrounding trees took flight and the black squirrels and deer of the Mirkwood escaped to their lairs when Kíli’s shrill “YOU DIDN’T?!” echoed through the forest.


	28. Chapter 28

To say that Thorin Oakenshield had been furious after hearing what his nephew had done, would be a blatant understatement. Fíli, still badly injured and suffering from fever and pain, had prepared for the worst, or so he thought, believing to be yelled at, sworn at and maybe even dishonoured, for he knew of Thorin’s temper and his unreasonable grudge towards the Elves. 

Thorin however had become so livid that he was not able to stammer a single word. Balin and Bofur feared that he might explode from all the rage boiling inside him but nothing the like happened. Instead, he did what Fíli did not expect and nothing could have hurt the youngster more. He turned his back on his nephew and left, travelling down the border of the Mirkwood without any company and he remained gone for a good two days, before Dwalin and Balin dared to search for him. 

“I’ve screwed up big times, haven’t I?” Fíli muttered on the third morning, sitting by the glowing fire, a cup of tea in his hands. 

“You did what you had to do”, Gandalf gently replied. “Your uncle will eventually return to his senses.”

Ori kindly refilled their cups and slumped back to his spot next to Fíli. He knew that he was not what the youngster needed, but he tried nonetheless to be a loving companion, just like Kíli would have been. He had taken care of the younger Dwarf, chatting to him, keeping him in a reasonably good mood and comforting him in the dark, long nights, when he yearned most for his brother’s warmth and company. 

Releasing the Elves had not gone down well with some members of the company and some of them refused to speak to Fíli, torn between their loyalty to Thorin and sympathy for the youngster. Bifur, who had just started to warm up to the boys and had even begun to teach them some Iglishmêk with Bofur’s help, didn’t even look at Fíli anymore. Neither did Glóin and Óin, who were proud Dwarves of Durin’s line and Thorin’s beloved cousins. Bombur, Nori and Dori wanted to keep Fíli company but didn’t dare to. The only ones supporting the youngster and sitting with him, were Bofur, Ori and Gandalf and Fíli felt incredibly alone.

“Do you think he’s alright? In the dungeons?” Fíli asked, carefully twisting the hot mug in his hands. 

“Your brother is a tough little fella”, the wizard smiled, lighting his pipe. “And he’s not alone after all. He has Bilbo to keep him company until Thranduil has decided on what to do with him.”

“And if I travelled to Thranduil’s palace myself?” Fíli began but was quickly cut off by Bofur, who had grown to be the mother hen of the little group. 

“And then we’d have two locked up princes and wouldn’t know what to do with you. No lad, you stay here. At least until you feel better.”

“But I do feel better!” Fíli protested but Bofur heard none of it.

“Don’t talk back to me like that, you still have a fever and you’re addicted to poppy seeds”, he bluntly stated and not even Fíli could argue with that. Gandalf chuckled quietly.

Since he had been sent to Middle Earth, he had been in the company of many folks. Men, Elves, the other Istari but no company had ever amused him as much as the company of Thorin Oakenshield. Even though the King of Thorin’s Halls knew well how to do Gandalf’s head in, the two youngest and the merry brothers from the east were Gandalf’s hope for the good in this world. The bickering and fighting, the hearty laughter and the simple honesty with which they went about their daily business impressed the wizard and he knew that he would remember them well, even when the days of the Dwarves would one day be over.

Thorin meanwhile quietly suffered from his gloomy mood. He had set camp by the ivy passage that Bilbo and Kíli had taken a few days ago and refused to return to the company. He accepted Dwalin and Balin to stay with him but did not say much.

“Come on now, Thorin”, Balin tried once again, a faint smile on his lips. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“If I hear one more time that those two don’t mean anything by it, I will-“, Thorin began but quickly trailed of, for he didn’t know what he would do. “I shouldn’t have brought them along. They’re still too young for this journey.”

“They manage quite well so far”, Balin reminded him gently, settling down next to him. “The times when they got themselves into trouble was when they were protecting one another. And you can hardly blame them for it.”

“But I do!” Thorin thundered.

“Remember the Battle of Azanulbizar?” Dwalin began casually, tending to the faint scratch on his shoulder. 

“What of it?”

“You and Frerin were inseparable. Didn’t you follow him to the very edge of the East Gate because you were afraid that he might do something reckless while luring Azog from his lair?”

Thorin suddenly grew very quiet. Even though he and his siblings had grown up under the stern watch of his father and grandfather, his brother Frerin and he had been very much like Fíli and Kíli once. Young and foolish, believing the world was theirs to take and nothing could have stopped them, for together they had been invincible.

“He died nonetheless”, Thorin muttered. 

“And you were injured badly, defending him until his dying moment”, Dwalin replied, his deep voice gentle and calm. “You nearly died yourself that day. And that is the only honourable thing to do. I would die for my brother in the blink of an eye if I had to.”

“And so would I”, Balin agreed, smiling at his brother. “Those boys are extraordinary Dwarves and you know it, Thorin.”

“They are reckless and quick in their judgement, not thinking before they act!”

“Well, yes I guess they inherited that from their uncle”, Balin replied dryly and Dwalin chuckled at the displeased glare that Thorin gave him in return. 

Their chatter was disrupted by the silent rustling of leaves and when they turned around to the ivy passage, they froze on the spot. 

It was, once again, the cloaked figure of an Elf appearing and again the brooch on his chest gave the unwelcome visitor away quickly. Legolas stopped on his tracks, surprised as well to find three Dwarves camping by the passage. 

“Have you come back to finally fulfil your liability?” Thorin snarled, puffing himself up before the elven prince. 

“If by that you mean that I will let myself be captured once again, then no, I did not come back for that”, Legolas replied, gripping his bow a little tighter just in case.

“Then why did you come back?” Balin asked, placing a gentle hand on Thorin’s shoulder.

“To let you know that your nephew is no longer held captive in the dungeons.”

“What did you do to him?!” Thorin thundered, ready to go for the Elf’s throat if Dwalin hadn’t held him back.

“Nothing, he escaped.”

For a moment the Dwarves did nothing but stare at the young Elf. Many incoherent thoughts rushed through Thorin’s head at once, some leading him back to his youth in Erebor and to the days in exile, when they travelled around Dunland, trying desperately to find a new place to belong. He remembered his brother and the sheer luck he had felt, having Frerin by his side until his death at the hands of Orcs. Other thoughts brought him to the Blue Mountains, to the moment when first Fíli was born and then Kíli five years later and he remembered the faces of his nephews while following him around the halls for days, begging him to take them with him on this quest and at last, his thoughts wandered off to Fíli sitting not far and injured and to Kíli, somewhere in the dark depth of the Mirkwood with a little Hobbit in his company and then his head went blank, for he did not know what to make of all this anymore. 

“How did he escape?” Balin asked eventually.

“It seems like he was let out of his cell by his invisible little friend and they escaped with one of the rafts my kin uses to trade with the Men of Esgaroth”, Legolas replied, still heedful but friendly, for the King of Thorin’s Halls did not seem as hostile anymore. 

“So he is on his way to Lake-Town”, Balin muttered and the Elf nodded in agreement. 

“Hm”, Dwalin smiled under his thick beard. “That little shit.”

Balin carefully glanced at Thorin but his features were unreadable and stern and for a moment, the old Dwarf feared that his King might do something reckless again. He was thus surprised, when Thorin suddenly picked up his cloak and pulled it around his shoulders.

“Thank you”, was all he said, simple and calm, before he turned on his heel and began marching up to the north, where the rest of the company camped. 

He reached the other Dwarves in the late afternoon again, closely followed by Dwalin and Balin who had hurriedly packed up their little camp by the passage and bid their farewells to Legolas, Balin in a friendly, grateful manner while he had to nudge Dwalin to say anything. 

When Thorin came within eyeshot, Fíli quickly rose from his place and regretted it the next minute, for his head began to spin and his side ached badly. He staggered a little, holding onto Ori’s shoulder but refused to show any weakness in front of his uncle.

“Sit yourself down”, Thorin mumbled. “You’ve messed yourself up badly enough already, I’m tired of stitching you together over and over again.”

“It’s not like you did any stitching this time”, Fíli retorted bluntly and the air between them burned. Bofur held his breath and Ori began to feel very uncomfortable but when Thorin lowered his gaze, Fíli finally gave in as well and sat down once again. 

“It seems as if Mahal did not bless you, nor your brother with a lot of brain”, Thorin began after a while, causing Fíli to puff himself up again but he simply raised his hand, gesturing his nephew to be quiet. “He did bless you with a vast amount of sheer luck though, I suppose.”

Fíli blinked at him, not sure of what to say to that.

“Your brother escaped Thranduil’s dungeons. He’s well and on his way to Lake-Town, remarkably taking the shortest way across the river”, Thorin sighed and he couldn’t believe that he had to admit that this route was smart and save and very much unlike Kíli to take. He therefore blamed Bilbo for this idea, but did not admit of course, that a Halfling had thought of this brilliant plan and he hadn’t.

“He’s safe?” Fíli spoke up after a moment of silence, his surprised gaze on his uncle. 

“Safe indeed”, Thorin nodded. 

He had a minute to breathe deeply, before his nephew, despite their fight, flung himself at him, tears of joy and relief running down his cheeks. Ori smiled brightly at Bofur, who just tilted his head a little and watched content and the finally light atmosphere was only disturbed by a sudden “Ouch!” from the youngster, who suddenly remembered his hurting side again and flinched badly, the tears of joy forming into tears of pain.

“Stop hurting yourself!” Thorin bellowed at his nephew and made it worse, when his elbow smashed down hard on the back of Fíli’s head. The rest of the company flinched and pulled faces and a quiet “Oooh” or “Ouch” was heard from various directions and the smile that had been on Bofur’s face before became a little crooked. 

“By my beard, I’ve been wanting to do that since three days”, Thorin muttered under his breath and patted his nephew on the back. “Now stop crying and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll follow your useless brother.”

Fíli just nodded, gritting his teeth and when his uncle had turned around, he simply collapsed on his back and refused to move until the next morning.

The company of two on the raft had meanwhile begun to ponder about their hideous situation. Stuck on a drifting piece of wood that Bilbo still disliked, in the middle of a quiet river that flowed way too slowly for Kíli’s liking. 

“We could always try to paddle”, the young Dwarf suggested but the Hobbit didn’t seem impressed.

“Knowing my luck, I’ll fall in. Or a large fish’ll eat me. You just wait for it”, he chuntered, waving his pipe in front of Kíli’s face. The youngster tried to dodge the wooden shank before Bilbo could poke his eye out with it.

“I told you I’d pull you out if you fell in.”

“And what would you do, if a fish ate me? Hm?” the Hobbit inquired, still fiddling with his pipe.

“Catch the fish, eat it and get you out”, Kíli bluntly replied and judging from the determined expression on his face, Bilbo did not doubt for a second that the Dwarf was sincere about this.

“Eat it?” he asked dryly. 

“Sure. Why waste it?” Kíli shrugged. 

Bilbo blankly stared at the young Dwarf for a while until Kíli began to wonder if he had said anything strange. 

“Hopeless”, the Hobbit finally muttered. “You’re hopeless.”

The sun was shining bright above their heads, a warm breeze blowing across the river, announcing the first carriers of autumn for the air smelled of wet soil and the chill of the mountains and Bilbo got comfortable on his back, ignoring the protesting youngster by his side. He closed his eyes and dreamt of Bag End and the green slopes of the Shire, dreamt of Tookland and Bywater and The Green Dragon and of Longbottom Leaf and of thirteen Dwarves in his Dining Room, throwing his plates around. And he quietly smiled to himself.


	29. Chapter 29

“I can see it!” a loud scream echoed across the vast grassland and the small company of Thorin Oakenshield looked up from their bristling, when Nori came running towards them, waving his arms. “It’s only a few more miles, we’ll make it by midday!”

From his outlook, a few yards away from the camp, he had spotted the glistening surface of the Long Lake, shining in the early morning sun like liquid emeralds. A sudden flurry overcame Fíli and he grew somewhat squirrelly, gorging his breakfast and packing up his belongings.

“And what are you doing?” Thorin asked curiously, watching his nephew scurry about while once again munching on a handful of poppy seeds. 

“We’re nearly there”, the youngster replied with his mouth full, earning himself a dispraising glare from Dori. “So Kíli is nearby.” 

It was all the young prince had been talking about for the past three days, ever since they had left the borders of Mirkwood to travel upcountry towards Esgaroth and ultimately Erebor. Kíli here and Kíli there and he had yearned to see him again so badly, it actually pained Bofur and Ori to listen to his chatter and quiet sobbing in the night, when he missed his brother the most. Thorin blamed it on the effects of the poppy seeds and the light fever that still held Fíli in its grip, but he secretly knew where this longing came from. The brothers had never been separated for so long and somewhere deep within, Thorin felt sorry for the both of them. 

“How about you pack up here”, Gandalf began, getting up from his spot. “And I will go ahead and look for our prince and the burglar?”

“You do that”, Thorin agreed and blinked irritated, when his older nephew rushed past him, causing the flames of the campfire to flicker. 

“I’ll come with you!” Fíli burst out eagerly, shouldering his belongings and stuffing his daggers and throwing axes into various slots scattered around his clothes, nearly toppling over while he tried to attach two axes to his boots in full run. 

“In Aulë’s name, boy calm down”, Dwalin muttered, taking a step to the side so Fíli couldn’t run him over. “Did ye sleep on an anthill last night?”

Gandalf merely chuckled, ignoring Thorin’s deep sigh and when he set off a few minutes later, he had a chatty young Dwarf by his side. They wandered across the grassland by the banks of the Forest River, the very same river that Kíli and Bilbo had travelled on with their raft. Fíli barely shut his mouth for a minute, asking Gandalf various questions but never letting him answer and he kept on playing with the laces of his coat or even one of his blond braids, should his fingers find those first. The wizard watched him with a bemused smile on his old features and he silently envied him a little, for Gandalf had never been that close to anybody in his lifetime.

After a while, they saw a pillar of thin smoke rising up in the air and the cheerful chatter of two different voices was heard across the grassland. Someone apparently seemed to argue about the proper preparation of trout and as soon as Fíli recognised one of the voices as Kíli’s, there was no stopping him anymore. The long grass reached up to his knees and made running difficult but the small Dwarf quickly ploughed his way through, completely forgetting about Gandalf.

Bilbo and Kíli looked up when fast footsteps approached and when Kíli recognised the figure running towards them, he instantly forgot the trout roasting above the campfire and he forgot about the Hobbit and their wet clothes hanging from branches for they had both fallen into the river when they had tried to get off the raft.   
A big smile spread on Bilbo’s features, when he saw Kíli racing towards his brother and he got up from his spot as well, merrily clapping his hands together.

Kíli hurled himself at his older brother and Fíli caught him safely, all injuries and fever forgotten completely. Their hug was so tight and loving, Gandalf doubted they would ever let go of each other again and small tears of joy rolled down Kíli’s cheeks. 

“You’re well again”, he whispered relieved. “Thank Mahal you’re well again.” 

“All thanks to you, little brother”, Fíli replied, gently clasping Kíli’s cheeks with both hands. Smiling, he leaned his forehead against Kíli’s and the younger chuckled quietly, while his brother gently wiped the tears off.

The Hobbit quickly mopped his own face with his sleeves and when Gandalf reached him, patting him on the back in a greeting, he muttered something about getting dust into his eyes. They settled down by the small campfire and Kíli did not leave his brother’s side once, sitting close to him and occasionally glancing over to him, only to assure himself that he was still there. They shared the fish and chatted a little until Gandalf eventually got up and grabbed his hat and staff again.

“Where are you going?” Fíli asked confused, getting up himself.

“There is a little business I need to take care of”, the wizard smiled, placing a large hand on Fíli’s head, which the youngster quickly brushed off. Gandalf smiled surprised, for when he had first met the brothers, Fíli hadn’t minded the simple gesture much. It seemed as if the boys had grown up quite quickly in the past months.

“What business?” Bilbo inquired but Gandalf only winked at him, being his usual mysterious self.

“But we will see you again before Durin’s Day, won’t we?” Kíli asked and this time, Gandalf merely shrugged.

“Tell your uncle that you will definitely see me again sooner or later”, the wizard replied and he waved them goodbye and thanked for the small meal. 

They watched him disappear in the tall grass and sat by the fire again, wondering how to explain this to Thorin. While Kíli and Bilbo seemed quite happy with it, Fíli had grown a little pale for he had witnessed the foul mood of his uncle for the past days and was slightly worried about telling him that they had lost their wizard. Again.

“How is Thorin anyways?” Kíli asked, nudging his brother gently. 

“Hm”, the older took his time to reply, poking the fire with a small branch. “Don’t ask. He’s mad at you, he’s mad at me, he’s mad at the entire world I believe.”

“Is he mad at me too?” Bilbo asked carefully, eyebrows raised.

“No”, Fíli pondered for a while. “No, I guess he pretty much forgot about you.”

“Oh”, the Hobbit blinked, not sure whether he should be offended or rather relieved for a forgotten Hobbit surely wouldn’t attract the wrath of a Dwarven king. While they waited for the rest of the company to arrive, they watched the sun travel above them, smoking their pipes and gazing at the blue skies. A warm breeze blew across the meadow and surrounded them with the soft rustling of blades of grass and they were content and happy. Especially Bilbo could have stayed like this, lying on his back and watching the few white clouds travelling by forever, for he did not look forward to a dragon and large halls that led him underground once again. 

The company reached them by midday, just like Nori had predicted and Fíli felt a little stitch of jealousy, when Thorin greeted Kíli with a loving hug. The sentiment faded soon though, as Thorin leaned towards his nephew, a tiny smile on his lips.

“If you do something like that one more time, your mother will learn about it and you will never be happy again in your life. Understood?” he innocently remarked, leaving a very pale Kíli as he walked on. 

“He’s scary”, Bilbo mumbled quietly.

“Tell me about it”, Fíli replied, grabbing his paralysed brother by the sleeve to drag him along. 

They journeyed on together and everyone asked Kíli about Thranduil’s palace and Bilbo had to tell the story of the raft more than once. Fíli listened and smiled to himself, for he was quite glad that his brother was the centre of attention for a change and he had some quiet time for himself. He was thus surprised when Thorin didn’t go mad again after asking about Gandalf. It seemed as if the King of Thorin’s Halls had finally grown used to the strange ways of the wizard. As they reached a small hill, their gazes finally fell on Esgaroth, a little to the west. 

The town was built on large pillars right above the lake and was completely made from wood. Every house, every ramp, every bridge and quay was whittled and carved from thick, dark wood and when a strong wind came up and waves crashed against the pillars, the whole town swayed a little. A large bridge connected Esgaroth to the land. The Dwarves stared in awe for none of them had ever seen a city like this and the Hobbit quickly grew a little weary, for he was sick and tired of water. 

“It might not be the best idea to enter the city with the whole company at once”, Balin noted and Thorin agreed. 

He picked Fíli and Kíli to come with him and, very much to everybody’s surprise, Bilbo as well, though the Hobbit did not quite understand why he should travel ahead and meet the Master of Lake-Town. Kíli encouraged him to come though and the five of them quickly set off, after they had urged Fíli to leave some of his numerous weapons behind, in case the Lake-Men believed the Dwarves to be hostile to them.

Watched wearily by the guards but not stopped by them, they soon crossed the large wooden bridge and entered Esgaroth. The royal blue of the cloaks of the Dwarves shone bright in the sunlight and they walked tall amongst the Men, who curiously watched the unusual company strutting through their streets. They reached a large pool of water right at the centre of the town and on its other side stood a prominent, large building. It was built higher than the remaining ones and sported beautiful carvings and large pillars to support the roof. All the while, Bilbo pondered whether it was a wise idea to build a city entirely from wood when there was a dragon living nearby, but he didn’t say anything. They circled the pool and Fíli and Kíli believed Thorin would give some orders as to their behaviour, telling them to be humble and nice but none of that happened. Quite the opposite in fact.

Thorin plainly pushed the large doors open without giving a knock or any other act of courtesy and when the thick wood knocked against the walls with a loud bang and dust whirred in the air, the dwarf stood in the frame, tall and puffed up.

“I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain! I return!”

While Fíli and Kíli simply stood behind him, the proud Heirs of Durin they were, Bilbo wished to disappear. 

The merry company in the hall stared surprised for a moment and at its head sat the Master of Lake-Town. He was quite an old man and a little chubby at that, dressed in a large fur coat that very much resembled the greatcoat of a king. Amongst them sat a few of the Raft-Elves too and they didn’t look too happy altogether for one of their rafts had been stolen a few days before. 

“King under the Mountain?” one of them asked, arching his eyebrows. “For all I see, at least one of you is a thief and an escapee from the dungeons of our great King Thranduil!”

Kíli suddenly grew very pale and quiet. Alerted, guards approached the small company, ready to grab the young Dwarf but they quickly changed their mind when not only Thorin stepped in front of his nephew, but Fíli blocked the way to his brother as well, his hand on the hilt of one of his swords.

“You accuse my sister-son of being a thief?”,Thorin growled, looking directly at the Elf. “Your King has already performed enough infamy by falsely imprisoning my nephew and thus delaying our journey home. I suggest you do not act so foolishly yourself! Besides, Esgaroth is not part of Thranduil’s realm and his word is meaningless here!”

“Now now, gentlemen”, the Master of Lake-Town stepped in, soothingly raising his hands. “Let us not cause any upheaval here now, shall we? If you are the King under the Mountain like you claim, Thorin, son of Thráin, then you and your company shall of course be welcome in Lake-Town!”

The word spread quickly and soon the whole town was up on its feet, watching the new arrivals curiously. When the remaining company arrived, they were given shelter and the people of Lake-Town began preparing a feast, for the King under the Mountain had finally returned. They were merry and happy, music played from every corner and colourful banners wafted from every roof and mast and Bilbo was surprised since for once, someone finally was happy about the Dwarves being around. 

“Why are they so cheerful?” Bilbo soon asked Fíli, clearly puzzled.

“Because Erebor was once the most glorious kingdom here in the north and the Men of Dale had prospered along with us. They all hope that that glory will return once more”, the young Dwarf smiled.

By nightfall, they lit many paper lanterns and sent them out on the lake. The Dwarves watched mesmerized as hundreds of colourful lights swam on the Long Lake and were mirrored on the surface, glowing like innumerable fireflies. Fíli, Kíli and Bilbo sent some lanterns out themselves and gazed at them floating away, laughing happily and clinked their glasses of wine and ale. The Dwarves sang merry tunes and played their instruments and the Men of Esgaroth dances and celebrated the return of the King. Thorin watched the spectacle from the seat of the Master of Lake-Town, who had offered it to him though he hadn’t seemed too happy about it. 

When the moon shone high above the floating city and the music had quieted down and only few people were on the streets still, quietly chatting amongst themselves, Fíli and Kíli stood by the outer border of the city, leaning on a low wooden rail. They gazed at the Lonely Mountain in the distance, admiring the large, black peak that reached up into the clouds, as the mountain lay in total darkness and only its silhouette shone in the night sky. Never before had they seen the home of their forefathers and a strange feeling of fear and pride grew in their little hearts.

“Is that it?” Bilbo asked quietly and both brothers jumped, for they hadn’t heard the quiet footsteps of the Hobbit.

“Aye”, Fíli replied, looking at the mountain again. “That’s Erebor.”

Bilbo stepped between them and peeked over the rail on tiptoes. He squealed when both brothers grabbed him by his waistcoat and lifted him up to sit on the rail, so he could see more comfortably.

“You really have to stop doing that”, the Hobbit muttered a little flustered. “That one time with the pony was enough already.”

“Just look at it”, Kíli mumbled, mesmerized and obviously not listening to Bilbo. “Not long until we will live there again. Not long until we will be home again.”

And on that night, for the first time since Bilbo had left the Shire, he saw the longing in the brother’s eyes. The strong, undying wish to finally belong somewhere again, to finally have a place they could call home. And even though neither of them had ever seen Erebor before, there was no doubt that they belonged in those halls and that Erebor was their righteous home. Bilbo watched the mountain in the distance and the same warm feeling of belonging overcame him, though his own home was far away. 

Neither of them noticed a cloaked figure watching them from a distance. It was neither a Dwarf, nor an Elf that eyed them from the shadows below the wooden houses, nothing but a slim, tall frame in the dark. The stranger stood watching them for a good while, before a small smile spread on his thin lips and he turned around and disappeared into the darkness.


	30. Chapter 30

“Master Dwarf! Would you like some sweet nibbles?”

“Master Dwarf! A piece of cake maybe?”

“Master Dwarf! Need your blades sharpened?”

The brothers walked along the narrow streets of Lake-Town bewildered. Wherever they went, the people greeted them with kindness and generosity and they were offered services of all kinds, some making their mouths water, some making them blush badly. They were used to this kind of hospitality from the various taverns of Thorin’s Halls but ever since they had set off on this quest, their encounters with the other races of Middle Earth had been a little less friendly. Whilst the rest of the company stayed close by Thorin’s side, careful and a little wary, the two youngsters had soon wandered off and explored the town by themselves. The swaying ground fascinated them, as well as the constant low splashing of the waves against the pillars. Usually, the little Hobbit was found in their company.

That particular day however, Thorin had requested Bilbo’s attendance at a little meeting he held with Balin and Dwalin, discussing their journey to Erebor and the steps they needed to take from there on, thus the boys walked the busy streets on their own, peering into various shops, admiring the goods on the market and glancing at the beautiful colours and carvings of Lake-Town.

“Master Dwarf”, another voice once again bellowed and the boys turned around, curious as to what was offered to them this time. “Would you like to join us for a little competition?”

It was a young fella of merely 15 years that looked at them questioningly. Considering that the two youngsters, had they been born as Men instead of Dwarves, would not be much older than the lad, he of course spiked their interest.

“What competition?” Kíli asked.

“Archery”, the boy grinned, displaying a chipped front tooth that made him look incredibly cheeky. Kíli began to beam like a child on Durin’s Day.

“I’m in!” he declared and grabbed Fíli’s arm to pull his brother along with him. They followed the boy to one of the outer piers where a small fair had been set up. All sorts of booths were lined along the waterfront. Some offered various shooting exercises, others challenged the players skills and patience and then there were pie eating contests and a booth with candies had been set up as well. The young Dwarves watched in awe for they knew none of this from home. 

“This way, Master Dwarf! That’s the shooting range!” the boy hurried them on and Kíli broke into a bright grin when he spotted four different targets at the end of the pier. Fíli, not too fazed by all the archery hassle for he was bad at shooting arrows anywhere, settled down on one of the pillars and was quickly offered a little something to eat, which he gladly accepted. 

“So, what’s the competition then?” Kíli asked. He stood surrounded by three boys now, all about the same age as the one who had invited them. 

“You need to shoot all four targets in a row and you have to hit the centre every time”, the boy explained. “Should you manage, we will buy you lunch.”

“And should I not?” the Dwarf asked, eyeing the targets, already looking forward to a large, free lunch. 

“Then you buy us lunch!”

Fíli chuckled and shifted a little on his spot, curiously watching his brother bragging about his archery skills while he drew his bow. The boys eyed the bow curiously, for it was much smaller and thicker than their own and obviously fitted to a Dwarven size. 

The first arrow neatly hit the target and Fíli applauded, a candied almond between his lips. The second arrow hit as well, just like the third one and the boys began to sweat and to count their coins for they had been told that there were no archers amongst Dwarves and it had been their bad luck to pick the only one that was actually skilled with a bow and arrows.

Kíli stood before the fourth target, pulling the arrow back and tightening the bowstring. He closed one eye as he took aim, let go and the arrow flew smoothly through the air, aiming right at the centre of the target. It was then, that a larger, much darker arrow bolted past Kíli’s head, sending the dark locks flying and it easily cut off the smaller, more slender arrow and whilst Kíli’s arrow toppled to the ground, the large dark arrow stuck straight in the centre of the target. 

The youngster spun around furiously to find a Man standing on a roof ridge not far behind them. He was not much older than 30, had dark hair and a rather stern face, though his grey eyes glistened mischievously. Fíli raised his eyebrows at his sudden appearance and hoppled off the pillar to join his brother and possibly hold him back, should he get himself into trouble. 

“You ruined my score!” Kíli shouted up to him.

“I apologize, Master Dwarf”, the man replied, his voice hoarse and not too deep and a small smirk played on his lips. “I could not resist.”

He jumped off the roof, a large, beautifully engraved bow clutched securely in one hand and approached the Dwarves without hesitation, though Kíli huffed and puffed himself up.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like an angry little sparrow when you do that?” the man casually asked, offending Kíli even more. 

“My lord, I must ask you to refrain from flouting my brother any further, otherwise I’m afraid he might bite your kneecap off”, Fíli explained calmly, trying not to grin, for Kíli did look a little like a fluffed up fowl. 

“My apologies again”, the Man replied, bowing before the brothers. 

“What’s your name?” Fíli asked while Kíli mumbled various colourful insults under his breath.

“The name is Bard”, the Man introduced himself. “And I need not ask your names for I know who you are. The two Princes of Durin’s line.”

The young boys that had dragged them to the pier suddenly grew very pale for none of them had known that they had challenged royalty to a duel. They began apologizing instantly, but Kíli waved it off and gave them some coins to buy their well-deserved lunch. When they stared at him in surprise, he merely shrugged. 

“I lost, didn’t I? Even though it wasn’t my fault”, he glared at Bard, who didn’t seem too fazed however. “Enjoy your meals.”

At that, the boys scurried off, leaving the two Dwarves and the Man on the pier.

“You are a skilled archer, Master Dwarf”, Bard complimented Kíli.

“I know”, the youngster replied disgruntled and plain and was quickly nudged in the ribs by his brother. Fíli eyed the man curiously and noticed his rather run down clothes, mainly made from brown linen and a little leather, even though the dark bow in his hand was made from fine ebony and so fondly ornamented, that it must have cost a fortune. 

“You don’t belong to the nobility of this town, I suppose?” he asked frankly, making Bard chuckle a little.

“By no means, no, my Lord. I’m nothing but an archer and guard of the town”, he bowed once more. “I heard you are going to reclaim your homeland after all?”

“We are indeed”, Fíli replied, smiling proudly. “It’s been in the claws of the dragon for far too long already.”

“If the dragon is there anymore at all”, Kíli casually added and both youngsters fell silent at the surprised expression of the man.

“Why do you believe that the dragon might not be there anymore?” Bard asked, looking from one to the next questioningly.

“Well, because- because he hasn’t been seen for sixty years”, Kíli replied, suddenly unsure if they might have been misinformed.

“True that”, Bard nodded. “Nobody has seen him leave either however. Should the rumours about the great treasure of the old King under the Mountain be true, then I don’t believe the dragon would give it up in his lifetime.”

“They are true”, Fíli mumbled and his shoulders dropped a little. He had been torn ever since they had ventured out on this quest, for even though he was afraid of the dragon and would have preferred it if the beast was long gone upon their arrival, he had also been curious as to what Smaug might look like, for he had never seen a real dragon before. 

“Well in that case I’d say there is a good chance that he is still in there, sitting on a pile of gold”, Bard remarked casually, leaning onto his bow and Kíli began to dislike him more and more. 

“What happened to Dale?” Fíli asked, ignoring the miffed glances from his brother, while he searched for more poppy seeds in the pouch he had been given by the Elves. 

“It has never been rebuilt”, Bard replied, watching the youngster curiously. “The Men of Lake-Town are afraid for it is too close to the mountain. They don’t dare to set a foot in it, although I believe rebuilding it won’t be too difficult after all.”

“Have you seen it since?”

“I have, yes. I travel to the mountain sometimes to see if anything stirs in there. Most of the buildings of Dale have been burned down to the ground but a lot is still standing. Lake-Town was built in its stead, securely on the water to make an attack by Smaug more difficult”, the Man explained and seemed to doubt the original plan of the people of Lake-Town just as much as Bilbo had done. 

Fíli gazed across the lake and to Erebor, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. He started to wonder whether their quest could be accomplished with so little people after all and whether Thorin had maybe relied too much on the dragon being gone already.

“Anyways”, Bard’s voice pulled him away from his daydreaming. “I wish you luck on your quest. I’m sure the Men of Lake-Town will be most grateful if you slew the dragon.”

He departed with a little wave of his hand but before he could disappear around the corner, Kíli’s challenging “Oi, Bowman!” made him look over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow by midday, right here! I challenge you to a duel!” the Dwarf declared and Fíli rolled his eyes at his brother’s childish attire.

“Very well, Master Dwarf”, Bard smirked. “Very well.” 

Kíli spent the following days in deep frustration. The little tournament against Bard had neither been spectacular, nor particularly long and they both soon had to realise that they were on par in archery, for they both hit the targets spot on and never missed a shot. Whilst Bard had been quite content with the result, Kíli had gone into sulking mode and barely spoke to anyone, except for his brother and occasionally Bilbo, who tried to lure the youngster out of his shell with various alcoholic beverages.

The company stayed in Esgaroth for more than two weeks, recovering and regaining their strength and while Thorin studied the map over and over again and Balin worried about Durin’s Day coming closer and closer, for the air had grown colder and a chill breeze came down from the Grey Mountains, the remaining dwarves were merry and cheerful. Dori and Ori spent most of their days wandering from shop to shop, apologizing and returning goods that Nori had previously stolen. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur marvelled on the wonderful food and ale, often joined by Dwalin who was tired of Thorin’s pondering and Óin and Glóin enjoyed the peace and quietness. Occasionally, the Dwarves would sit together in an Inn or by the market and whittle and forge from wood and stone and sell their figurines and weapons to the People of Dale, who happily accepted them and paid some good prize for them. 

Fíli and Kíli spent every evening by the border of Lake-Town and they watched Erebor in the distance, smoking their pipes. Bilbo, who was still fascinated by the yearning of the youngsters, often joined them and witnessed those rare moments when the both of them stood in complete silence, their eyes fixed on their home. Every night, they were watched by the strange hooded figure and more than once, Fíli had noticed him disappearing into the dark after a while. 

On their last night in Esgaroth, the youngsters sat by the lake again, their pipes glowing in the dark and after a long silence Bilbo was already about to fall asleep, leaning against Kíli, who had wrapped his coat around Bilbo’s shoulders in a loving fashion. The Hobbit blinked when Fíli quietly began to hum, his brother joining him soon and he listening mesmerized, when the clear, gentle voices of the brothers echoed across the lake.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon,  
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.  
They fled their hall to dying fall,  
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the Misty Mountains grim,  
To dungeons deep and caverns dim  
We must away, ere break of day,  
To win our harps and gold from him. 

Long after their song had died away and the glow of their pipes had burned down, Kíli and Bilbo had fallen asleep, leaning against each other and only Fíli still watched the dark shadow of the mountain in the distance. He stirred when he heard a faint rustling behind him and when he looked over his shoulder; he saw the hooded figure standing in the shadows. The figure quickly disappeared but Fíli got up from his spot quietly and followed the fleeing shadow around the corner. The cloaked Man halted abruptly, when a dark throwing axe buried itself in the wooden wall of a house right next to his head.

“Do not move another muscle if your life is dear to you”, Fíli growled and the hooded Man turned to him, his hands raised in defeat. Fíli was surprised when the Man removed his hood and a familiar face and raven black hair appeared underneath.

“Bard!” the Dwarf exclaimed, his expression most surprised. “It was you all the time.”

“Aye”, the bowman admitted, a sheepish smile on his lips. “I should have revealed myself earlier, I’m sorry.”

“You do apologize a lot”, Fíli remarked dryly and lowered another throwing axe that he had drawn from his boot already. “Why were you spying on us?”

“By no means was I spying”, Bard explained quickly, obviously a little worried about this misconception. “I was merely listening to your talking.”

“Eavesdropping is no more cordial than spying.”

“You’re right, though I will not apologize again. I must admit that your kin has a certain fascination for me. Especially you and your brother”, Bard admitted quietly.

“And why is that?” Fíli demanded, still not quite sure what to make of all this.

“You carry the fate of us all and we Men of Lake-Town rely on you. I wanted to find out more about the future King of these realms, since one of you could be the one I will have to bow to in the future.”

Fíli stared at the Man before him bewildered. The task of being a king one day had been far away for the youngster, since Thorin was well and sound and very much keen on reclaiming his title of King under the Mountain soon enough. And even though he was used to being addressed as a ‘prince’ he could not yet see himself as a king at all. 

“I heard you are leaving tomorrow?” Bard asked, ripping the Dwarf from his thoughts once again.

“We are”, Fíli replied, still a little puzzled. He took a few steps back, when Bard suddenly stepped closer until they nearly touched.

“Be on your guard”, the bowman hissed quietly, making Fíli uncomfortable. “He is still in there and he is very much alive, keen on guarding his plunder until the bitter end. Should he find out about your quest, it will be the end of you and the end of all of us, for he will not leave a single log standing in this town.”

“I-I understand”, Fíli stammered, looking up at the man. 

“I wish you all the luck in world”, Bard showed a crooked smile as his gently placed a large hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “Honestly. Good luck.”

The youngster stood frozen to the spot for a while after the Man had disappeared in the shadows again. In this moment it dawned on him, that they really had to face a dragon and they had to face him soon. All the sweet-talking of Smaug being gone was erased from his memory for Bard’s words had been so intriguing that Fíli believed them without a second thought. When he returned to his snoring brother and the Hobbit, his knees felt like jelly and he did not find any sleep that night.


End file.
